Springsteen
by givemekevinbacon
Summary: Bruce Springsteen might have been on to something when he said these were the glory days. University of Michigan, 1985. Huddy.
1. Girls In Their Summer Clothes

_A/N: Technically, this story is considered an AU. I've used canon as the foundation and basis for the story, but I've pushed House and Cuddy's relationship a bit further than canon suggests. In this version, Cuddy is a junior in college when she first meets House (I believe canon implies that she's a freshman when they first meet) and House is a grad student. He's 26 at this time. _

_This story has been a lot of fun to write-challenging, but fun. The inspiration from this actually comes from Lisa Edelstein saying she hates Bruce Springsteen, which is possibly the most blasphemous statement I've ever heard :) Also, shout out to Flynn and Justyne, who put up with all my bullshit questions about plot and characterization. And to Marlene, who is possibly a bigger Bruce fan than I am! _

**_Note:_**_The chapters aren't based on individual songs, I'm just using them as fun chapter titles :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The last two weeks of August were her favorite. It was the beginning of a new year, even though summer was coming to an end. She was surrounded by the smell of iced coffee and library books, freshly mowed grass and clean sheets. It meant trading in her unsweetened iced tea and running shorts for vodka sodas and leather mini-skirts.

It was that familiar feeling of _new_, and that's why she loved it.

The air was crisp, but a hint of humidity was threatening to make an unwelcome appearance. Anticipating the effect it would have on her hair, Lisa Cuddy swept her curly brown locks into a loose bun, not caring that a few strands had escaped as she made her way to the University bookstore.

She'd moved in to her on campus apartment three days ago and was about to begin her third year. She'd spent the last two days getting reacquainted with her best friends and roommates, Olivia and Madeline. Olivia was an English major who never went anywhere without a notebook, and Madeline was a Fashion Design student with a pair of blue eyes that rivaled Lisa's. But she'd always liked the speckles of grey that danced inside her own blue orbs; they were mysteriously enticing.

She smiled as she walked into the bookstore, sighing contently as masses of blue and yellow flooded her eyes. Skipping past the section of school supplies—her desk was already overflowing with pens—she headed towards the rows upon rows of books, her class schedule in hand.

She lifted a hand to the top shelf, cursing inwardly as she realized the chipped nail polish on her index finger while she reached for a book she mistakenly assumed she would need.

"That's not the one you're looking for," said a gruff voice from behind. "Although you've presented me with a nice view, so feel free to continue on with your mistake."

She turned around, coming face to face with the boy behind the voice. The first thing she noticed about him was his eyes. They were an immensely deep blue color, somewhere between the color of the sky and her favorite coffee mug back home. He looked at her, his eyes moving up and down her body, but not in the way most boys looked at her; it was as if he was questioning her, drinking her in with a single look.

She rolled her eyes as she spotted the smirk that was plastered across his face; he clearly assumed he had all the answers.

She cocked her head to the side.

"Do I know you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. She caught sight of the gold name tag that was haphazardly pinned to a Rolling Stones t-shirt. "Greg, is it?" she said, taking a step towards him as she read his name aloud. "I take it you work here?"

"Excellent deductive skills," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Class dismissed, you get an A."

She shrugged her shoulders and thrust the book towards him, lifting an elegant eyebrow as he gently took it from her; their fingers grazed for a moment, her pinkie brushing up against his thumb. She couldn't ignore the quickening of her heartbeat.

He smirked and put the book back in it's rightful place; she'd be lying if she said she wasn't impressed by the fact that he didn't have to reach.

"Give me your schedule…"

"Lisa," she asserted, smiling as she handed him the piece of paper. He nodded, his eyes moving towards her again; this time he _was_ looking at her in the same way other boys did—but she didn't really mind.

"Cuddy," he said, reading over her schedule. "Jewish, I presume. I could tell that from your curls, though," he said, looking her over once more. She let out a slight laugh and tucked a curl behind her ear, slightly embarrassed. "Junior, but on track to graduate in two semesters if you don't plan on having a social life."

"I can multi-task," she corrected primly.

He smirked.

"You've got a chip on your shoulder," he pointed out.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes, lips parting as she silently questioned him.

"You're making that up," she accused, straightening her back as she folded her arms over her chest; she wasn't interested in hearing about his rash assumptions.

"I can see it," he said, shrugging his shoulders. She scoffed. "It's wedged between your class schedule and the thoughts in your head that tell you you're going to change the world."

She scoffed again, bringing a hand to her face as she mockingly waved in front of her cheeks. "Am I blushing?"

"You're overly ambitious," he said, ignoring her as he continued his spiel. He paused, smirking to himself as he met her eyes once more. "But you know how to party. Your class schedule is overloaded, but none of your classes are before eleven, and no one takes Professor Lamb's course unless they have something to prove. Professor Siegal covers the same ground but is the easier grader. How am I doing so far?"

He grinned at her, noticing the slightly bashful look on her face as she bit down on her lower lip; he must have struck a nerve.

Her eyes danced towards his, a playful smirk on his face as she said:

"Maybe I will change the world," she said, neither confirming nor denying his claims.

He paused, letting out a slight laugh as he said:

"Maybe. But you probably won't."

And he couldn't possibly know it at the time, but she just might change his.

* * *

"Hey Pop-Tart," greeted Lisa's roommate, Olivia Wescott. Olivia was a blonde-haired, green-eyed girl from the South who never went anywhere without a notebook and had a quirky term of endearment for just about everyone.

Cuddy smiled at her.

"Hey," she said, walking over to their living room and flopping down on the couch next to her. She tucked her leg underneath her, grinning widely at Olivia.

"You're weirdly smiley," Olivia pointed, grinning skeptically at her. "You must have gossip. Spill."

Lisa shook her head.

"It's not really gossip," she corrected, shrugging nonchalantly. Her lips curved into a devilish grin. "Just…interesting," she said.

Olivia smirked. "Interesting is code for cute boy," she said, raising her eyebrows. "We need Madeline," whispered Olivia.

Lisa sighed; out of the three of them, Madeline was the most experienced when it came to boys. She always seemed to be dating someone.

"Madeline!" Olivia called, turning her head towards the room down the hall. "Your presence is required in the living room. Put down your sketchbook and get in here!"

As a Fashion Design major, Madeline was constantly sketching away in her notebook. There were pencil shavings all over their apartment, but Lisa figured it was a small price to pay for having unlimited access to Madeline's wardrobe.

"You bellowed?" Madeline asked, peeking her head around the corner. She tucked a pencil behind her long, wavy red hair, her bright blue eyes widening in anticipation.

"Lisa has boy gossip," said Olivia, smiling excitedly.

Madeline's eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together as she made her way over to the couch. She gently shoved Lisa over, causing the three girls to readjust on the couch. Olivia draped her arm over the edge, turning so she faced the other two.

Lisa rolled her eyes.

"It's not gossip," she said, shaking her head. "It's stupid, we don't have to talk about it."

"Too late," Madeline interjected. "My pencil is behind my ear and my ass is on this couch, so you're going to talk. You know you want to," she goaded, smiling sweetly at Lisa as she gently nudged her knee.

"This is not nearly as exciting as the two of you think it is."

Olivia scoffed.

"We'll be the judge of that," she said, gesturing at Madeline, who was nodding along.

"Start with the location," Madeline suggested. "And don't leave out any details."

Lisa sighed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as her lips curved into a smile; she was almost weary about sharing the story with her friends. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt like it was one of those memories she wanted to keep all to herself. But her friends were looking at her with big, pleading eyes, and there was little chance of her ever seeing Greg again, so she indulged them.

She took a deep breath, smiling even wider as she said:

"It started in the bookstore…"

* * *

Greg walked into his apartment, lazily swinging his backpack on to the couch as he collapsed into the chair.

"Dude, where have you been?" asked his roommate, Jake. "Some of the guys are heading to the field in an hour to practice. You down?"

Greg nodded noncommittally. Jake played with him on the Club Lacrosse team, and he liked him enough to share a living space, but he wasn't so interested in some of the other guys on the team. They were the typical frat boys, most of who had peeked in high school, and Greg didn't exactly care for them.

Then again, he didn't care for most people.

"Sure," he grumbled, shrugging his shoulders. He ran a hand across his face, sighing at its smoothness. He'd been trying to achieve that look of rugged stubble for months, but it wasn't working out. "But if that punk Nick shows up, I'm out."

Jake shook his head, laughing good-naturedly.

"Nick is the captain of the team," he said. "Look, I know you don't like some of the guys on the team, but you're a solid player and they realize that. You just got to give them a chance. You'll like them once you get to know them."

Greg scoffed.

"I do know them," he countered. "Which is precisely the reason I don't like them. But I'll go. I wouldn't want the team to suffer," he boasted.

"Your self-sacrifice is much appreciated," said Jake, rolling his eyes in slight amusement. "They're throwing a party later tonight, you want to go?"

House smirked.

"When have I ever been one to say no to free beer?"

"Good point," Jake mumbled. "I invited Madeline and she mentioned something about bringing her roommates. They're supposed to be pretty cool."

Greg shrugged.

"Kind of hoping for the opposite of cool," he said, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

Jake rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure they're hot," he said. "Hot girls always travel in packs. Grab your stick, dude. I want you to teach me that reverse toss you did last week."

"Fine," he grumbled. "But you owe me ten bucks for teaching you. Twenty if you can't get it."

Jake laughed good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he said:

"It will be a miracle if you ever find a girl willing to put up with you for more than twenty minutes."

* * *

She ran with determination. Her bright colored sneakers hit the pavement in a rhythmic motion, a smile creeping across her lips as she felt the wind breeze past her. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was taking her usual run through campus.

She stopped at the fence surrounding the recreational fields, pressing her calf into the chain-link fence and leaning back, stretching before she began her run back to her apartment.

"You know, you've made quite a habit of letting me stare at your ass."

Lisa turned her head, eyebrows furrowed and hair sticking to her forehead as she watched the blue-eyed boy from the bookstore walked towards her. She smirked, straightening up and perching a hand on her hip.

"Not that I'm complaining," he continued, picking up his step as he quickly jogged over to where she stood.

He was wearing a Michigan t-shirt, with sweat dripping lightly from his brow and a lacrosse stick in his hand. She suddenly felt herself start to blush.

"Maybe you're the one stalking me," she challenged, cocking her hip out to the side and lifting her eyebrows at him.

He shrugged.

"Now wouldn't that be a turn of events."

She smirked, rolling her eyes.

"You're cocky," she accused.

"See for yourself," he fired back, shrugging his shoulders and giving her a self-satisfied grin.

She let out a light chuckle.

"You play lacrosse?" she asked, nodding her head towards the stick in his hand. "Or do you just use it as a prop to get girls to talk to you?" she asked primly.

She blinked; judging by the way the sweat seemed to _drip_ of his face and onto his perfectly sculpted chest, she couldn't imagine he had much trouble attracting the attention of the opposite sex.

He smirked.

"You're talking to me, aren't you?" he asked, his arm gravitating towards the fence. His hands clasped around it, trapping her in front of him.

She gave him a sly smile.

"For now," she answered. "I've got twenty two more minutes left in my run. You up for it?"

He smiled, propping his lacrosse stick up against the fence and thinking back to what Jake had said a few hours ago. He cocked a grin at her.

"Lead the way."

* * *

"Madeline," called Olivia, leaning towards the mirror as she started to curl her eyelashes. "I demand to know the specifics of your relationship with Jake."

Madeline shrugged.

"You know I don't do specifics," she joked, shooting the two girls a grin.

Lisa ran her hand through her mass of curls before readjusting her black leather skirt. She'd refrained from telling her friends about her last-minute running partner; she wasn't hiding it, she was just…keeping it to herself for the time being.

"His roommate is supposed to be pretty hot though," continued Madeline, her eyes flickering towards Lisa.

Lisa rolled her eyes, knowing where Madeline was going with this; setting her up was a trademark of hers.

"When are you going to stop offering me up to strangers like I'm some piece of meat?" she asked, slightly amused.

Madeline grinned.

"Maybe when you stop looking so hot all the damn time," she answered, looking her friend up and down. "I'm going to have to stop letting you borrow all of my clothes."

"Bite your tongue," Lisa ordered, giving her friend a sly smile. "Who else is going to be at this party?"

Madeline shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest idea. It's at the lacrosse house, so I'm sure all of those guys will be there. And the Kappa Delta girls follow them around like lovesick puppies, so we'll probably have to fight some of them off."

Olivia straightened immediately as Lisa tried to hide the pleased look that was undoubtedly plastered across her face. _He _played lacrosse.

"If Mackenzie Taylor is there we have to leave immediately," said Olivia, her eyes widening in fear. "I swear to all that is holy, that girl wouldn't think twice about throwing me off the nearest cliff."

"She can't possibly hate you as much as you think she does," said Lisa gently.

"I stole her boyfriend and her place on the school newspaper. Frankly, I'm surprised she hasn't put a hit out on me yet."

Madeline shook her head.

"Okay, first of all, you did _not _steal her boyfriend. She and Alex were broken up—because she _cheated_ on him. Furthermore, you and Alex are still together, and I fully expect Lisa and I will be walking down an aisle in no less than four years. And third of all, you're a better writer than she is, and the only reason she was even _on_ the school paper was because one of her sorority sisters was the Editor in Chief. In short: don't let Mackenzie Taylor dictate your life, Olivia. I won't stand for it and neither should you."

Lisa scoffed.

"I feel like we should be clapping or something," she said mockingly, her lips curving into a slight smile.

"I had no idea you were so passionate about Mackenzie Taylor's undying abhorrence for me," said Olivia, touched by Madeline's quick defense.

She shrugged.

"Half of Kappa Delta is in my marketing class," she said, slightly irritated. "You know Mackenzie has most of those girls wrapped around her perfectly manicured little finger. I've never heard such in depth conversation before. I've been forced to seek refuge with the Zetas. They're much calmer. And they braid my hair, so that's a plus."

Lisa stared at Madeline, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"How do you know so much about sorority life?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

The three girls had lived on the same floor their freshman year and bonded over the fact that none of them had made the decision to rush; they'd stuck together ever since.

"I'm a Fashion Design major and I have hair that looks like it belongs on a mermaid," she said matter-of-factly. "I attract these people."

"What a tragedy it must be to be you," Olivia fired back sweetly.

"Don't be so self-deprecating, Olivia. You can recite sonnets on command and are dating a boy who is basically the Mr. Darcy of our generation."

"What am I, chopped liver?" chuckled Lisa, backing away from the mirror for the first time.

She smiled into the mirror, satisfied with the way she looked. Her hair was naturally curled, but was styled in a way that showed off the sharp features of her face; her black leather skirt hung tightly to her hips, and her loose fitting, cream-colored crop top showed just enough of skin.

Madeline looked her up and down, smiling as she twirled a lock of red hair around her finger.

"You, Lisa Cuddy, are the girl everyone secretly hates. Because all the girls want to be you, and all the boys want to fuck you. You're the wild card. And you have no idea how hot you look in that mini-skirt."

* * *

"Everyone remember the rules?" Olivia asked, glancing back and forth at the two girls as they stood on the sidewalk, huddled together in front of the house. "If one person says they need to leave, we all go. Never leave your drink unattended. If someone asks about a line, they're _not_ referencing the bathroom, and stay as far away from Mackenzie Taylor as possible."

"Thanks Mom, but we've heard the speech before," said Madeline, grabbing the two girls hands excitedly. "I know repetition is your favorite literary device, but can we get a move on please? There are boys to be flirted with and alcohol to consume."

Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Repetition is _so _not my favorite literary device. That would be alliteration," she countered. And I'm just trying to keep us from repeating what happened the last time you dragged us to a frat party."

"I have no recollection of what happened that night," she said innocently.

"That's because I spent most of the night holding your hair while you puked up the ten tequila shots you managed to get into your system while nobody was looking," reminded Lisa, her eyebrows raised and her head cocked to the side.

"Right," mumbled Madeline, her eyes shifting towards the ground. She gripped the two girls hands even tighter, dragging them towards the steps. "But just for the record, if you had seen the boy I was doing shots with, you'd have done them too."

The two girls rolled their eyes as the followed Madeline up the stairs. Olivia pulled Lisa closer to her, whispering:

"Madeline is probably going to be with Jake the whole night, and Alex is supposed to be meeting us here, but if you want to go just say the word, okay?"

Lisa let out a slight laugh.

"Stop worrying, Olivia. I'll be fine, I promise," she said, nudging her inside the door. "I'm single, not a leper."

"We're just protective of our little baby, that's all," Madeline called, turning her head over her shoulder as she led the two girls into the house.

"I'm only three months younger than the two of you," Lisa countered smugly. "And unless something has changed in the past week, I've had more sex than either one of you," she said proudly.

Her cheeks reddened as she heard him clear his throat.

"You make quite an entrance," said Greg, walking over to where the three girls stood. Olivia and Madeline exchanged knowing glances, smirking as they dug their nails into Lisa's skin.

Lisa smiled, quickly recovering.

"You're here," she said, smiling at him as she tried to hide the excitement in her voice. He smirked.

"Sounds like you were expecting me," he pointed out, grinning at her.

She shrugged.

"You play lacrosse. I'm at a lacrosse party. I can put two and two together," she fired back, her voice never faltering.

Olivia and Madeline simultaneously cleared their throats, each nudging Lisa in the side.

"Sorry," she said through gritted teeth, glaring at her two roommates. "These are my roommates, Madeline and Olivia."

He nodded at them, a look of relief washing over his face.

"You're Madeline?" he asked. She nodded, and Lisa gave them both a quizzical look. "Jake has been looking for you for the past half an hour," he said, slightly irritated. "Maybe now he'll stop whining," he mumbled.

Smiling deviously, Madeline took Olivia by the hand and said:

"Let's go find Jake and Alex. See you two later."

Lisa stared at him, wide-eyed. He was wearing a fitted grey tee, much like the one he'd been wearing four hours ago when he hijacked her run. She closed her eyes, remembering the way the t-shirt clung to his arms, his well-defined biceps practically ripping through the seams. She shook her head slightly, forcing the image out of her mind as she met his eyes once more.

He blinked.

Panicking, she blurted out:

"Just so you know, I'm not a slut," she said hurriedly.

He eyed her quizzically.

"Okay," he said flatly.

"I mean Madeline dates a lot of guys, but I don't think she sleeps with them, and Alex lost a bet to Olivia so she's not sleeping with him, and I had a boyfriend for a while but then I found out he was sleeping with—"

He smiled at her.

"You want a drink?"

Blushing a little, she nodded, her face softening and her lips curling into a smile. He extended his hand and she took it, her fingers interlocking with his as she said:

"Lead the way."

* * *

She coughed.

"What did you put in this, lighter fluid?" She brought a hand to her mouth, forcing it closed as the alcohol trickled down her throat.

He shrugged, smirking at her.

"Vodka, a dash of sprite, an ice cube or two," he said, giving her a smile. "Figured you could handle it."

"I can," she said confidently, taking another sip of the drink. "What I don't understand is why you're allowed to drink beer and I get the cheap liquor that's masked by soda, and maybe a lemon, if I'm lucky."

She lifted her eyes towards his, gesturing towards the beer that he was bringing to his lips. She tried not to stare as the liquid ran down his throat, but she simply couldn't take her eyes away from his Adam's apple.

She blinked.

"Do you want a beer?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at hers.

"No," she said primly. "I'd just like the option."

He nodded.

"I'll try to remember that for next time," he said casually. She blushed again. "So, Lisa Cuddy, tell me about yourself."

She scoffed.

"Tell me about yourself? Really? You finally get me alone in a normal social setting and that's the first thing you ask?"

He shrugged innocently.

"You have no idea how much I already know about you," he bragged, taking another sip of his beer. She rolled her eyes and held out her hand, gesturing for him to continue.

He nodded.

"You like to answer questions by _asking _a question, you run because it's the only time you ever truly feel alone, even though for some reason you let me join you today—which bodes well for me, I might add. You love your family but you don't feel connected to them like you do with Red and Blondie over there."

"Madeline and Olivia," she corrected, taking a sip of her drink before setting it to the side. "And you got all of that from a twenty minute run?" she asked, disbelieved.

"Twenty two," he corrected, smiling at her. He shrugged. "You spent the first ten minutes sneaking glances at me. Which means you must find me somewhat attractive—"

"I'd have thought I'd made that part pretty clear," she said, casually interrupting.

He smirked.

"You did," he said confidently. "You spent the next ten minutes talking about Madeline and Olivia, and the only reason you _mentioned_ you had a sister was because I asked you. And you're competitive, but you try to hide it. You failed, by the way. I saw you sneaking glances over at me while we ran up that last hill," he pointed out.

She smiled devilishly.

"I run a lot," she mused.

He glared at her.

"Fine, you want to know more?" she asked, gaining more confidence with each sip of her drink. He nodded. "I can't stand the taste of coffee, I hate Bruce Springsteen with a burning passion, I lost my virginity to my AP Chemistry student teacher the summer after I graduated high school, and I was a dinosaur for Halloween from the time I was four to the time I was seven," she paused, taking another sip of her drink while she caught her breath.

He lifted his eyebrows at her, intrigued.

"My mother says she loves me but I'm ninety-eight percent sure she loves my sister more," she tilted her head to the side, biting down on her lower lip as she desperately racked her brain for more semi-interesting factoids. "I eat at least one piece of dark chocolate a day, and my favorite Jane Austen novel is _Pride and Prejudice _even though I hate admitting it because it's so goddamn cliché."

She picked up her vodka soda, downed the rest of it in one gulp, and looked back up at him, eyes dancing. She smiled.

He eyed her suspiciously.

"Why the black?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of her nails.

She shrugged. She picked up his beer and took a sip.

"Because my mother would have hated it," she answered, handing the bottle back to him.

He smirked.

"I like you already."

* * *

_As always, feedback is much appreciated. Much love and happy New Year!_

_-Alison_


	2. You Can Look(But You'd Better Not Touch)

_A/N: This chapter is cheesy and stupidly romantic. (Then again, that's kind of the tone of this entire story). Also, just a reminder: I'm not following canon to the letter. I used the canon suggested generalizations and then went from there._

* * *

She took a sip from her tea, eyes peeking above the mug. He looked at her, watching as she pressed her soft pink lips against the porcelain cup; she left a pale pink outline around the rim. They were huddled in back corner of the local coffee shop; a small table was the only thing between them, and every once in a while her foot would graze his, and she would blush, pretending it was an accident.

He shifted in his seat.

"Let's go back to the part where you said you hated Bruce Springsteen," he suggested, folding his arms across his chest.

She rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Is this really what you want to be discussing right now?" she asked, pausing to set her mug down on the table.

He shrugged.

"It was either that or your disdain for coffee," he said. "Pick your poison."

"Tequila," she retorted, smirking at him. She took another sip of her tea, rolling her eyes once more. "I couldn't even tell you why I don't like him," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I just don't."

"There has to be a reason," he insisted

"Does there?" she asked, letting out a slight laugh. His face softened.

She smiled at him.

"Not everything is an equation. Sometimes, things just…are."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"You really believe that?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

She shrugged.

"The alternative is a little depressing, don't you think?" she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice. She took another sip from her tea, smiling as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

He smirked.

"You mean reality?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You're too young to be so cynical," she said casually.

"You're too smart to be so naïve," he fired back, his lips curving into a smile.

She let out a slight laugh, arching her back a bit as she pulled a hair tie from her wrist. She smirked at him, watching as his eyes drifted towards her slightly exposed navel. Expertly gathering her hair into a bun, she leaned towards him, her eyes dancing as she said:

"You want to come help me organize my desk?"

He smirked, rolling his eyes. And even though he knew it wasn't a euphemism, he kind of hoped it was.

* * *

"Do you do this every semester?" he asked, watching as she sat at her desk, meticulously placing her pens into a coffee mug.

She chuckled.

"I take it you just shove things into your drawers?" she declared, turning her head towards him, her lips curved into a slight smile.

He shrugged and walked over to her closet, opening it slowly before peeking inside. He thumbed through her clothes, sucking in his breath as he came across one of the shortest black dresses he'd ever seen.

He gulped.

"That looks a lot better on, you know," she teased, folding her arms across her chest as she stepped in front of him.

He smirked.

"I bet it does."

She rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing in here? You're supposed to be helping me."

"You've been putting your pens away for half an hour," he pointed out. "I got bored."

"So you thought you'd explore my closet?" she asked, letting out a slight laugh.

"Would you rather I have gone in your underwear drawer?"

She shrugged, clearing her throat as she darted her eyes to the ground. He smirked, knowing he'd won.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked, stepping away from him. "Besides that black dress you're picturing me in right now," she joked, playfully shoving him on the arm.

He smirked, shaking his head.

"I'm not picturing you in it," he answered. She lifted her eyebrows, questioning him. "I'm picturing you out of it."

She laughed.

"Such a gentleman," she whispered huskily, moving in front of him. Her eyes met his, eyes sparkling and lips curving into a grin as she took tentative steps towards him.

He shrugged.

"I do my best," he mumbled.

She paused, unsure of her next move. Suddenly she felt his hands encircling around her waist. His fingers slowly inched up underneath her loose-fitting t-shirt, his thumbs nipping at her skin as she felt herself being pressed up against her closet door. Gently colliding with the wooden surface, her breath hitched as he dipped his head down towards her, pressing a hand next to her head and pulling her closer.

He took a step closer towards her. His lips were inches from hers and she smelled like coconut and fresh linens and everything he imagined innocence would smell like, and her lips were pink and slightly parted, as if she were begging him to kiss her but was too afraid to ask.

She could practically feel his breath on her when she heard the door slam.

"Lisa Cuddy, get your cute little butt in this living room before I _murder_ sweet little Olivia," bellowed Madeline.

Lisa cringed, slowly opening her eyes and giving Greg an apologetic look. His shoulders dropped and he stood up straight, a small smile breaching his lips as he tilted his head in the direction of the door.

She gripped his t-shit with her fingers, tugging at him as she pleaded:

"Just give me one minute."

He smirked.

"I'll be here."

She nodded and released his t-shirt from her hand, walking out from underneath him as slowly as possible, fists clenched in utter frustration.

* * *

"Thank _god _you're here," Madeline said, rolling her eyes as she spotted Lisa walking out the door. She directed her eyes at Olivia, narrowing them slightly. "Is that not my sweater?" she asked primly.

Olivia huffed. "For the last time Madeline, I never said that it wasn't—"

Madeline held her hand up, hushing her friend. Olivia rolled her eyes.

"I know you didn't call me out of my room just so we could argue about the owner of the sweater Olivia is wearing," Lisa hissed, folding her arms across her chest.

"We're not arguing about who the sweater belongs to," Madeline corrected. "We're arguing about the fact that Olivia always borrows my sweaters and then stretches them out."

Lisa rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair.

"What are you trying to say?" Olivia asked, letting out a huff as the double meaning of Madeline's words registered in her mind.

Lisa sighed, her eyes darting to her door and then narrowing at her two best friends. "Can we maybe hash this out another time? I was this close to—"

"I'm saying that your boobs are bigger than mine," Madeline interrupted flatly. She gestured between the two of them, her lips pursed in determination. "I'd have thought that was rather obvious," she said boldly, standing her ground.

Olivia scoffed.

"You're delusional!" she accused, shaking her head. "Your boobs are totally bigger than mine!"

"You're the delusional one! Lisa, go grab me a measuring tape before I self combust."

"I'm not doing that," she hissed. "And you're both delusional!" she said, rolling her eyes as she turned towards Olivia. "Liv, your boobs are bigger than Madeline's. And Madeline, that sweater is mine. And I have a boy in my room that I'd _really_ like to make out with, so if you'll excuse me," she said, glaring at them as she walked back towards her room.

Madeline sighed, tilting her head to the side as she turned to Olivia and said:

"Would it be inappropriate to go listen at the door?"

* * *

"You know, if you really wanted to piss them off, you could have pointed out that your boobs are almost double the size of theirs," he said, grinning at her as she walked back into the room.

She sighed, crinkling her nose up.

"Sorry," she said, slightly embarrassed. "You weren't supposed to hear any of that. Madeline and Olivia can get a little…old married couple-ish. Sometimes I feel like I'm their therapist."

He shrugged.

"Maybe you're meant to be a psychiatrist instead of a real doctor," he joked, causing her to roll her eyes and let out a laugh. "You got some interesting stuff in your closet," he said, nodding his head back to where they were previously standing.

She smirked knowingly, following him back to the corner of the room.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, pursing her lips. "Like what?"

"Thirteen pairs of leg warmers organized by length and color, four bottles of laundry detergent because apparently, three just isn't enough, a disco ball for nights when you're really feeling crazy, and a Michigan Rowing sweatshirt that's almost double your size. Interesting pick of sport, by the way," he said, lifting his eyebrows at her.

She gulped, reaching for the sweatshirt and hastily folding it up before stuffing it in the back of her closet.

"That was supposed to get thrown out," she mumbled, her eyes darting to the ground.

He eyed her suspiciously.

"What happened?" he asked. "Suddenly lose your passion for boating?"

She shrugged.

"Something like that," she said casually. She smiled. "Want to go grab some coffee? I'm pretty sure Madeline and Olivia are listening at my door, anyway."

"You hate coffee," he pointed out. "And we had some two hours ago."

"I've decided to branch out," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest.

He shook his head.

"Nice try," he said, shrugging her off. "Explain."

"There's nothing to explain," she argued. "It's a sweatshirt, not a novel."

"Right," he said mockingly. "Is that why you're getting so defensive?"

She scoffed.

"I'm not getting defensive," she retorted, lips pursed and eyes glaring. She folded her arms across her chest and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, desperately searching for a distraction.

He shrugged, smirking at her.

"Okay," he said, disbelieved.

"I'm not," she argued, shoulders dropping and lips curving into a smile.

"I said okay," he answered, letting out a slight laugh.

"But you don't believe me," she argued.

"It doesn't matter if I believe you," he replied. "It matters if you believe you."

She rolled her eyes.

"Are you always this damn philosophical?"

"I'm not philosophical," he mused. "I'm just right."

Lisa laughed good naturedly, shaking her head in amusement as she walked towards him, closing the gap between them.

"No," she corrected, "you always think you're right. There's a big difference," she said smartly.

"Then tell me I'm wrong," he dared. She eyed him, tilting her head to the side as she took another step towards him.

Settling her hand on his chest, she bundled his t-shirt into her fist and anchored herself towards him, slipping her hand around his neck. She ran her finger through the hair at the nape of his neck, eyes dancing as she felt his fingers slip underneath her shirt, his thumb nipping at her skin.

"Why would I do that when I could just do this instead?" she whispered, pressing her lips to his.

His lips enveloped hers, and a moan escaped her as he slowly began to part them with his own; she quivered nervously beneath him, letting him take the lead. He cradled her waist with his hands, gently rubbing circles into her waist with his thumb.

She fluttered her eyes open, smiling at him. He gently pulled his lips away from hers.

"I like the way you think," he murmured, sliding his arm behind her and wrapping it around her waist.

She took a deep breath and pressed her forehead against his, smiling devilishly.

"Thought you might," she whispered.

And when she kissed him again, she did it with more confidence and less trembling hands, and her thoughts were no longer on the sweatshirt balled up in the corner of the closet—they were on his expert hands, enticing lips, elusive eyes, and the very real possibility that her bra would be on the floor within twenty minutes.

* * *

"Dude, where have you been?" asked Jake as Greg walked into the door, slipping off his jacket and revealing the _very _wrinkled grey t-shirt underneath.

Jake smirked knowingly.

"I was out," Greg answered casually. "Wasn't aware you were keeping tabs on me," he said, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a water bottle.

"Always better to know what direction the storm is coming from," said Jake. "Oh, some girl called for you," he mentioned.

Greg perked his head up.

"Who was it?" he asked, interested.

Jake furrowed his brow.

"Abigail, I think. Adrianna maybe, I don't know," he answered. "It's hard to keep track with you," he joked.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"She sounded hot. Is she an exchange student?"

"I have no idea," he growled. He took another sip from the water and then set it down on the counter forcefully, not caring that some of it spilled over the rim. "Anyone else call?" he asked, slightly peeved.

Jake shook his head.

"Nope, just her," he answered. "What, were you hoping for someone else? Is there like, a hierarchy to your hookups? Do you separate them by tiers?" he jested, laughing to himself.

Greg rolled his eyes, ignoring him.

"You know, more girls would like you if you weren't such an ass," asserted Greg.

Jake smirked, laughing once more.

"Same goes for you."

Greg shook his head.

"Plenty of girls like me," he countered. "It's the rugged handsomeness and the undeniable charm," he quipped, smiling smugly at his friend.

"That must be it," Jake conceded. "What are you doing for the game next weekend? The guys are throwing a huge tailgate at the lacrosse house before if you want to go. You should invite Abigail, or Adrainna, or whatever the hell her name is. I'm going to call Madeline later and invite her," he explained.

Greg shook his head.

"I'll invite someone else," he said.

Jake smirked.

"Someone a little more Tier One material?" he sneered.

Greg chuckled.

"Something like that."

* * *

Lisa Cuddy smiled lazily, glancing off into the distance as she listened to Madeline and Olivia gossip about Madeline's TA. Apparently, he was a "silver fox with the most beautiful eyes and an irresistible amount of stubble." Olivia was pretending to act offended by Madeline's intended pursuit, but they all knew she was secretly impressed.

"More wine, love muffin?" Olivia asked, pulling Lisa out of her dazed state. Lisa jumped slightly and then shrugged, lifting her eyebrows at Olivia.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, finishing off her glass and then motioning for Olivia to refill it.

"Please," Madeline interrupted, following suit and pushing her glass towards Olivia. "It's Wine and Cupcake Night. Of course we're trying to get you drunk," she added sweetly.

Lisa scoffed.

"It's been Wine and Cupcake night for the past three Saturdays," she pointed out. "Don't try and act like this is a special occasion."

Olivia nodded, giggling. She leaned over towards Madeline, pretending to whisper:

"Maybe if we get her drunk enough, she'll tell us what happened with that adorably charming boy. The one with the eyes," she added. "What was his name? Greg?"

Lisa rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe you're sleeping with my crush's best friend!" Madeline exclaimed, giggling as she took another sip of her wine. "How cute is that?"

"And on that note," said Lisa, taking a swig from her own glass. "I'm getting another cupcake."

"Oh come on," Olivia protested. "Don't be so shy. Spill!" she ordered.

Lisa shook her head. "There's nothing to spill," she answered, taking a chocolate cupcake from the box. She dipped her finger into the vanilla icing and lifted it to her mouth, smirking as she shrugged her shoulders. "It's not what you think."

Madeline eyed her suspiciously.

"I don't believe you," she said, turning to Olivia. "Twenty bucks says they hooked up."

"Are you taking bets about my sex life while I'm _in the room_?" asked Lisa, laughing as she feigned offense.

Madeline shrugged, smiling innocently.

"Wait a second," interrupted Olivia. "Before we do anything else, can we _please_ get a concrete definition of what "hook up" means? You know I have trouble with colloquial terms," she said, embarrassed.

Madeline shook her head in amusement.

"That's because you use words like 'colloquial' in every day conversation," said Madeline smugly.

"It's not my fault you have difficulty deciphering my vernacular!" Olivia accused primly, smirking to herself as Madeline tilted her head to the side in confusion.

Madeline crinkled her nose and turned towards Lisa, who was curled up on the chair with her glass of wine in hand, chuckling at the two girls.

"What the hell does 'vernacular' mean?" Madeline mumbled to herself, shifting her gaze towards Lisa, who rolled her eyes and took another sip of her wine.

"Oh my god _get a dictionary_," Olivia said, slightly amused.

Lisa cleared her throat and sat up, staring pointedly at the two girls. "If you two don't stop, I'm moving out of this apartment," she teased.

"But then who would arbitrate our disagreements?" pouted Olivia, glancing over at Madeline and giving her a proud, sly look.

"You did that on purpose," Madeline accused. The redhead directed her gaze back to Lisa, who continued to dip her finger into the icing on the cupcake. She had a habit of eating the sprinkles first. "We have more important things to discuss," she said, peering at Lisa.

"Answer my question first," demanded Olivia.

"It's exactly what it sounds like, Olivia," said Lisa simply, shrugging her shoulders. "Sex."

Madeline widened her eyes.

"Are you serious? I always thought it was like, making out or whatever," Madeline interjected, slightly confused. "You cop a feel or two, but you don't go all the way."

Lisa tilted her head to the side, scrunching her face up. "Really?" she asked, perplexed. "If that's true, then my friends at home aren't nearly as slutty as I think they are," she said, laughing as she took a sip from her wine.

"You see?" exclaimed Olivia, twirling her long blonde hair around her finger. "This is the problem. Nobody knows what they're _actually_ saying when they say 'I hooked up with so and so last night.' We'll be debating this for the next twenty years," she explained.

"Can we get back to the point, please?" Madeline pleaded, snapping her fingers over at Lisa. "Focus," she ordered. "What happened with Greg?"

Lisa smiled, taking the glass to her lips. "Who said anything happened?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders innocently.

Madeline and Olivia glared at her. She sighed.

"We kissed," she admitted, smirking as Madeline and Olivia exchanged skeptical looks. "A lot," she added, naively thinking that would satisfy them.

They continued to stare at her.

She rolled her eyes.

"We didn't sleep together," she admitted. "Satisfied?"

The two girls shrugged, smiling as they nodded their heads.

"So what's your game plan?" asked Madeline curiously, leaning forward and giving her a sly smile.

Lisa eyed her quizzically.

"Game plan?" she asked

"Like, what's your next move? Are you going to call him? Wait for him to call you? Show up to his apartment wearing nothing but a baseball cap and glass slippers?"

Lisa rolled her eyes; Madeline had a flare for the dramatic.

"There is no 'game plan'," she countered, laughing at the thought. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly; she hadn't really thought about her next move, or his—she was too caught up thinking about the way she felt pressed up against him, his lips surrounding hers and the way her hands trembled when he—

Lisa cleared her throat.

"More wine?" she asked, reaching for the bottle.

"Oh no," Olivia interjected, narrowing her eyes. "You're not getting out of this that easily. Come on, Lisa," she added sweetly, using her slight southern drawl to her advantage. "Look, I know you said you'd swear off of boys for a while after what happened with—"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with that," she corrected firmly.

Madeline and Olivia nodded, holding their hands up while they shared skeptical glances.

"It doesn't," repeated Lisa. "That was almost six months ago," she explained. She lifted her glass to her lips, draining its contents in one sip. She took a deep breath and pushed it away, the wine feeling heavy in her stomach. "I'm over it."

Olivia nodded.

"Whatever you say, sweetie," she said, reaching her hand over towards Lisa's and squeezing it tightly.

The phone rang and Lisa let out a sigh of relief—she wasn't interested in continuing that particular conversation.

"Hello?" she answered, slightly giggling; she was suddenly aware of just how tipsy she was. She smiled when she heard his voice on the other end of the phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

She looked over at Madeline and Olivia, who were exchanging knowing glances with one another. Lisa cleared her throat, twirling a lock of hair around her finger nervously.

"Not much," she answered. "Why?"

"I'll be at your apartment in ten minutes," he said. "Put on your party pants and let's go."

She smiled.

"I'll meet you downstairs," she said, hanging up the phone as a smile crept across her lips.

Madeline reached into the box of cupcakes pulling one out and handing it to Lisa.

"Here," she said, handing the chocolate cupcake to Lisa and smiling devilishly. "Never underestimate the power of frosting. It doesn't matter where you put it—it's irresistible," she said seductively.

Lisa rolled her eyes and held her hand up, warding off Madeline's advances. Madeline raised her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side and smiling widely. Lisa paused, biting down on her lower lip.

"On second thought," she muttered, reaching out and taking the cupcake from Madeline, who shot her a knowing glance.

She dipped her finger into the frosting and brought it to her lips, knowing that the flavor would linger.

She remembered him saying he liked chocolate.

* * *

They stood side-by-side, their arms grazing occasionally and pretending it was on accident. She turned her head to the side, biting down on her lower lip as she took in her surroundings; he smiled at her nervousness.

They'd found themselves at the University's football stadium, which, considering it was nearing eleven at night, was completely deserted.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, looking at him skeptically, arms folded across her chest. "You do realize this is what the beginning of what most horror films look like, right?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be such a wimp," he said, nudging her playfully. "Come on, it will be fun."

"I don't know," she said tentatively. She reached for his arm and grabbed on to it, her fingers clutching the sleeve of his shirt as she nervously tugged at the imaginary frays. "Isn't this against all kind of rules?"

He shrugged.

"Only if we get caught," he rationalized. She glared at him. "Which won't happen," he said flatly, holding out his hand to her. She sighed, removing her hand from his arm and placing it in his, interlacing her fingers with his own.

"Fine," she said, taking a deep breath as they walked towards the fenced in area. She turned around and faced him as they walked, keeping their hands intertwined and giving him a sly grin. "But you're going to have to help me jump over that fence," she explained, a hint of seduction in her voice.

He shuddered a breath as they crept across the dark pathway, feet sinking into the ground as they walked.

"So," she began, placing one foot in the chain-link fence and expertly hoisting herself up. She paused at the top of the fence, fists gripping the edge as she tossed her hair to the side; she figured she'd let him enjoy the view. "Is this what you do with all the girls?"

He smirked, walking towards her and firmly placing his hands on her ass, pretending to support her as she swung her legs over the side.

"Nope," he countered, smirking as she rolled her eyes. "Usually we break into the basketball court. But I figured it was a nice night, so why not try something different?"

"You really know how to make a girl feel special," she retorted, smirking at him from the other side of the fence.

"It's a gift I've perfected over the years," he quipped. "Here, hold this," he said, tossing his backpack over the fence, impressed when she expertly caught it between her delicate hands.

She watched as he climbed over the fence, embarrassingly averting her eyes as she realized how intently she was staring at him. But she couldn't help it, because he had a jaw so chiseled she swore it could cut glass and a pair of eyes so blue they were practically an enigma, and she sighed, because she knew what it felt like to be tangled up underneath him and she—well, she couldn't let herself fall for _that_ again.

She shivered.

"Cold?" he asked, looking over at her.

She shrugged; cool nights seemed to accompany the transition from August to September, and usually she hated the indecisiveness of the weather—but when he opened his arm up out to her, she decided she couldn't be bothered to mind.

Lisa leaned into him as they walked, smiling shyly as she felt his arm drape across her body. They silently walked towards the fifty-yard line, his arm around her waist and her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, and she couldn't help but smile, because she'd never felt so goddamned cliché in her entire life.

They sat down, both simultaneously cringing at the unexpected dampness of the grass; they laughed nervously.

"So," he began, examining her as she sat down. She gulped, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, waiting his undoubtedly loaded question or abrasive observation. "How come you were free tonight?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You make it sound like I'm a piece of property," she said, laughing.

"You know that's not what I meant," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's a Saturday night. You're young, not boring to be around, _definitely _not boring to look at, and you seem to have a more than the average level of intelligence." She blushed a little, averting her eyes to the ground. He shrugged. "I gave you ten minutes notice and…well, here you are."

She sighed, leaning back on her forearms, her elbows digging into the grass as she gave him a pointed look.

"Boys are so incredibly stupid," she declared, glaring at him. He laughed. "You're mad when we turn you down, you're mad when we jump into your arms after ten minutes. Should I have lied and said I was busy?" she asked

He shrugged.

"And what about you?" she prompted, picking at a blade of grass. "You meet all the qualities that you just described me with. How come you're available?"

"Maybe all of my plans fell through and you're the first person I thought of," he said simply, eyeing her.

She eyed him right back.

"Maybe," she retorted. "But I highly doubt it. I think you're the kind of guy who likes spontaneity. The kind of guy who calls a girl at 6 in the morning to see if she wants to go climb a mountain or take a road trip or…or I don't know, do something weird and unexpected."

He smirked.

"You like weird and unexpected?"

She shrugged, picking at another blade of grass.

"I like _people _who like weird and unexpected," she answered diplomatically, sitting up and inching closer to him.

His hand gravitated to her waist.

"Lucky me," he murmured, pressing his lips to hers, enveloping her in a kiss while his hands roamed the thighs that he'd practically embedded to memory. His fingers picked at the material of her thin leggings, his thumb pressing into her hip as hand made its way to her lower back at a tantalizingly slow pace.

She regretfully pulled away, pressing her forehead to his as she placed her hand to his chest, gripping the collar of his V-neck t-shirt; she traced her index finger down his chest. She slowly pushed him backwards.

Lips pressed up against his neck, she mumbled:

"You got that right."

* * *

She sighed contently. Her hair was sprawled out behind her, her head resting on his shoulder as she looked up. She could just make out some of the constellations.

"That's Andromeda," he observed, pointing up towards the sky. She turned her head to the side, impressed. "The _Mulier Catenata_, or the Chained Woman. She was chained to a rock by the sea after her mother basically caused a war for insisting that her daughter was more beautiful than the Nereids, who were sea nymphs that were supposedly blessed with beauty."

"Mermaids can be so testy," Lisa mumbled, giggling as she looked up at him. He rolled his eyes, gently nudging her to be quiet. She smiled apologetically.

"As I was saying," he continued, eyeing her pointedly. "She was saved by Perseus, who used the head of Medusa to turn the monster—"

"Into stone," she finished, smiling up at him.

He sighed.

"You already knew?" he asked, doing his best to hide his surprise.

"As I recall, you're the one who said I had an "above average level of intelligence." I'm just living up to my expectations," she quipped. She smiled. "My dad got me a telescope for my seventh birthday. We used to sneak out of the house once my mother had gone to sleep and look at all the constellations." She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I used to draw them in a notebook and look them up in the library the next day at school."

"I knew you were a Daddy's Girl," he said, mocking her. She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. "And a nerd at the ripe old age of seven, apparently."

She laughed.

"Yeah, but I turned in to the hot nerd that everyone wanted to sleep with in high school," she retorted confidently.

He looked her up and down.

"I'll give you that."

She blushed.

"What about you?" she asked, turning to her side and facing him. Her eyes met his. "Were you a Mamma's Boy?"

He shook his head.

"Nope," he said nonchalantly. "My parents and I don't really mesh. Childhood wasn't so kind to me."

She smiled sympathetically.

"Is that why you're so emotionally guarded?" she mocked, rolling on to her back and letting out a laugh. "So un-open to communication?" She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow.

He scoffed.

"Like you're an open book," he accused, watching as she quickly darted her eyes to the ground.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered primly, lifting her eyebrows. She tucked a lock of piece of hair behind her ear. "I've been nothing but honest with you."

"You're holding something back," he coaxed. He reached his hand out, slipping it underneath her oversized sweater. He rubbed his thumb across her skin. "You want to sleep with me, but you won't. Which means something must have happened to you. And I'm guessing it has something to do with that sweatshirt I found earlier."

She sighed.

"You think you know everything about everyone, don't you?" she asked, her face stoic.

He shrugged.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he demanded.

"How do you know I want to sleep with you?" she asked, glaring. "I never said I wanted to."

"Didn't have to," he countered.

"What if I'm a virgin?" she fired back, sitting up, causing his arm to drop from her. "It's possible to kiss someone and not have the urge to automatically sleep with them, you know. I mean, I don't know what kind of girls you're used to dating, but—"

"First of all," he interrupted, sitting up to face her. "You're not a virgin. Because if you were, you would have told me the minute my hand went up your shirt and your bra came off. Second of all, don't pretend like you don't want to sleep with me. I can tell by the way your eyes linger and the way your hand trembles when I do that thing with my thumb."

She gulped, closing her eyes for a brief moment, naively thinking that he'd just _shut up _if she didn't look at him.

"It's okay," he continued. "I want to sleep with you, too. I think I've made that pretty clear."

She opened her eyes, glaring at him.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a narcissistic asshole who disregards other people's feelings in order to feed their own undeservingly over-sized ego?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe not in so many words, but—"

"Lucky for you," she interrupted, sighing as she dropped her arms to the ground, flattening her palms onto the grass, "you happen to be a narcissistic asshole who's right."

He smirked triumphantly, and she sighed, pretending not to be amused.

"Spill," he goaded.

She sighed.

"You know that cliché about the girl who comes home early and finds her boyfriend in bed with her best friend?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. He nodded and set his jaw, knowing what was coming. "Let's just say I'm the poster child for that, courtesy of Abigail Reynolds and Noah Brady."

Lisa averted her eyes to the ground. She grabbed a fistful of grass, ripping it from the ground as she tossed the individual pieces to the side. She lifted her eyes up, meeting his. He placed his hand on her thigh, gently kneading her knee.

She grabbed another fistful of grass.

"Ouch," he replied.

She laughed.

"And the worst part is, they didn't even stay together," she ranted, throwing the grass back onto the field. She sucked in her breath, eyes flaring. "I mean, if you're going to throw away a relationship away, _at least_ make sure you're throwing it away for something a little more meaningful than casual sex."

"Okay," he said, taking her hand. "If you keep destroying the field, they're going to know someone was here. Then they'll figure out it was us, and then you'll get expelled, and then you won't be able to carry out your undoubtedly full proof plan to ruin your ex-best friend and ex-boyfriend's life," he jested.

"Funny," she mused. "Anyway, I haven't spoken to either one of them since it happened," she said, her voice growing soft. She looked up at him. "And I do like you," she assured. "A lot," she said sheepishly.

"I know," he quipped.

"Because of the hand," she said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed.

"Because of the hand," he confirmed. "What did I tell you about me being always right?"

She scoffed, shaking her head as she lay back down in the grass, pulling him with her. She wrapped her arm around his middle, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

"Shut up, House."

And she didn't know why she used his surname, or why she'd been so open with him, or why she was curled up against his chest at two in the morning in the middle of their University's football field, but she didn't want to question it, because it just felt…right.

* * *

_The Greg and Lisa thing kind of freaks me out. Feedback is appreciated!_

_-Alison_


	3. Let's Be Friends (Skin to Skin)

_A/N: Sorry for the (slightly) delayed update. The site has been acting a little hinky lately. Anyway, thanks for the continued encouragement and support with this story. I know it's a little lighter than what I usually write, so I'm glad you're enjoying it. And I'm glad so many of you seem to enjoy the original characters. Although, spoiler alert: they're really not THAT original. If you put all of Madeline and Olivia's personality traits in to one person, you'd get me :) heh._

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lisa asked, pursing her lips as she took the wand of her mascara to her eyes, fluffing them slightly. She leaned forward, resting her hips against the counter as she sighed, readjusting the Michigan necklace around her neck.

Madeline rolled her eyes.

"Will you stop worrying? We were going to the game anyway," she pointed out, turning her head towards Lisa, who was shifting nervously. "Might as well hang out with some cute boys first," she added, smiling at her friend.

Lisa shrugged her shoulders, averting her eyes to the ground as she distractedly fumbled with the tube of her mascara.

"Oh my god," Madeline exclaimed, throwing out her arm and nudging Lisa in the shoulder. Lisa turned her head and met her knowing look. "You're nervous about seeing Greg, aren't you?"

"I'm not," she answered breezily, pretending to be distracted with the yellow bow she was about to put in her hair. Madeline scoffed, watching as Lisa meticulously pinned back a section of her hair.

Lisa sighed.

"He's just—"

"You like him," said Madeline bluntly. She placed her hand on Lisa's shoulder. "That's nothing to be ashamed about, Lisa."

"I know it's not," she muttered. "But I haven't felt this way in a long time, and the last time I did—I don't know, it just didn't work out so well. I'm just being cautious," she said.

Madeline shrugged.

"And there's nothing wrong with that," she said, smiling. "When you're _thirty_," she added primly, smirking to herself. Lisa rolled her eyes. "You're young, he's young. You're hot, he's hot. Birds do it, bees do it."

"Madeline!" Lisa exclaimed, playfully swatting her friend's hand. The two girls erupted into a fit of giggles, laughing as they took one last look in the mirror.

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to loosen up a bit. Your world isn't going to end if you let a boy distract you every once in a while. I know you're like, poised to take over the world and everything, but you have to have fun every once in a while."

"I have fun," Lisa countered, slightly offended at Madeline's insinuation. "And me being with Greg isn't the same as you being with Jake," she pointed out. "House is like, 26. It's…different."

"House? Who is that? I thought we were talking about Greg."

"We are," Lisa said, sighing. "House is his last name. It's not important," she continued, noting Madeline's confused look. "Anyway, what I mean to say is that I'm not ready for another full blown relationship, and I don't get the impression that he is either. But," she began, drawing the word out and redirecting her gaze towards Madeline. She sighed once more, her voice growing quiet as she spoke. "I'm also not ready to be just 'one of the many'."

Madeline nodded understandingly.

"Maybe he's not like that," she offered, giving Lisa a genuine smile.

Lisa scoffed.

"He's a 26 year-old genius with an extremely chiseled jaw, blue eyes that practically pierce your soul, and a surprising amount of upper body strength," she rambled. "Of course he's like that," she said flatly.

Madeline let out a slight laugh.

"You're forgetting something, Little Miss Lisa Cuddy," Madeline reminded sweetly, turning to face her.

Lisa cocked an eyebrow.

"What's that?"

"You're a twenty-year old knockout with a heart of gold and an unbelievably smart head on your shoulders. Not to mention a certain level of forwardness that most guys _drool _over. I wouldn't be too concerned."

Lisa shrugged.

"I guess so."

Madeline shook her head.

"I know so," she retorted. She turned towards Lisa, looking her up and down. "Now," she began, "let's discuss your outfit."

"What's wrong with it?" Lisa asked, looking down at the blue and grey striped dress she had chosen for the game. It was tight in all the right places but still managed to look like she'd just thrown it on at the last minute.

"Nothing," Madeline assured her, reaching out to nudge her elbow. "It's spirited with a hint of slutty. I dig it," she joked, causing Lisa to laugh. "I am however, questioning your shoes. Boots with a dress? Did I miss the memo on this?"

Lisa rolled her eyes.

"I'm starting a trend," she said simply, reaching for the perfume and dabbing a bit on her wrists. "Plus, my converses got all muddy when I broke into the football field with House the other night," she admitted.

Madeline nodded, smiling at her friend as she said:

"Ah, young love."

* * *

"Beer pong at eleven in the morning?" she asked, smirking as she carefully stepped over the pile of red-solo cups that was quickly building in the corner. She clutched on to the sleeve of his shirt as they walked. "Impressive."

House turned his head to look at her.

"Wanna play?" he asked, goading her.

She shook her head, giving him a sly smile.

"Maybe later," she answered. "I bet I'll beat you, though," she said proudly, folding her arms across her chest as they made their way across the room. He placed his arm on her back, ushering her back to one of the more deserted rooms in the back.

She and Madeline had separated the moment they'd arrived, leaving to find their respective dates with the silent understanding that they'd meet out front before walking over to the stadium.

Lisa Cuddy strode confidently into the empty room, grateful for the chance to be alone with him. They'd spent the last half-hour maneuvering the crowd, sneaking in stolen glances and elusive touches; the graze of a pinkie, the brush of a shoulder—but she could feel the electricity with every touch, and there was this small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she should drag him upstairs and rip off every single item of clothing he was wearing.

But she refrained, restraining herself as she allowed him to drag her to the back of the house.

"Really?" he asked, his hands circling around her waist. "How much are you willing to bet?"

She looped her arms around his neck, giggling as she looked around; there was no one in sight. She smiled, tilting her head to the side as she laughed, pretending to mull it over.

"All the money in my wallet plus a million dollars," she laughed, her hair falling behind her as she lifted herself up on her tiptoes.

He dragged her to the back of the room, his hands on her waist and his fingers picking at the threads of her dress. He smirked at her; she pressed her forehead to his, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"So a million and two?" he guessed. She laughed, shoving him playfully as she shook her head.

"You underestimate me," she whispered, pressing her lips to his for a quick kiss. She pulled away, smirking at him. "It's a million and three."

She untangled herself from him, fully aware of where they were and what direction they were headed in. He sighed, letting her go and running a hand through his hair.

"You want a drink?" he asked, unsure what to do; she seemed to be turning down the reason he'd brought her into the secluded room. He sighed, glancing the set of stairs behind him.

She shook her head, laughing.

"I think I'll wait until at least noon," she said distractedly, picking up a football and attempting to grip it with her tiny, delicate hands.

She stared quizzically at it, tilting her head to the side and biting down on her bottom lip; he smirked and walked over towards her.

"You're doing that wrong," he pointed out, placing his hands on her waist and gently pushing her to the side.

She glared at him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered simply, picking up the football with one hand and proving her wrong. She smiled sheepishly. "Come on," he said, nodding in the direction of the door. "Let's go find Red and Blondie."

She eyed him skeptically; he usually wasn't one to suggest hanging out with other couples.

"You're just looking for a reason to put your hands all over me, aren't you?"

He shrugged.

"Guess you're just going to have to find out."

* * *

"This isn't fair," Madeline whined, giggling as she stood frozen in her spot, the football tucked safely underneath her arm. She shuffled the leaves underneath her feet, desperately trying to distract Jake.

Cuddy laughed heartily from a few feet away. She rested her arm on House's shoulder, coking her hip out to the side; even if she managed to get open for a pass, there was no way Madeline was going to be able to throw it.

House turned his head towards Cuddy. He smiled at her.

"You're the one who wanted to play boys against girls," Jake pointed out, smirking to himself.

"I think Madeline overestimated her aptitude for sports," Cuddy called out, leaning off of House and attempting to scurry closer to Madeline.

He shook his head and laughed a little, pretending not to see her.

"Like you're one to talk," Madeline fired back. She lifted the ball up, straightening her elbow and positioning to throw the ball.

Jake looked over at House and stepped backwards. The two exchanged a knowing glance.

"She's a Jew," said House, standing up straight and looking over at her. "Not being good at sports is practically embedded into her DNA."

Cuddy opened her mouth to respond, but while she was formulating the undoubtedly clever response, Jake stood up as well—giving Madeline the perfect opportunity to unceremoniously chuck the ball at Lisa.

And instead of a witty response, Cuddy let out a shriek, catching the ball in her hands with a surprised look on her face.

"Oh my god!" yelled Madeline, a smile on her face. "You caught it!"

"I know," said Cuddy proudly, looking down at the ball in her arms—she failed to notice that House was jogging towards her.

"Wait," Madeline called, noticing that Jake was jogging towards her and blocking her view of Lisa. "Oh my god, start running!"

Cuddy looked up, watching as House rushed towards her; his footsteps were quickening and she froze, turning her head in every direction. She tucked the ball between her arm and her waist, cradling it.

"Where?" she asked, perplexed. He was getting closer, and they hadn't established any types of boundaries or field goals and she wasn't entirely confident to in her ability to run without dropping the football, and his t-shirt gripped him in all the right places when he ran and his eyes—

Damn. His eyes were blue.

"I don't know!" shrieked Madeline, laughing as Jake wrapped his arms around her, stopping her from making any further movements. "Just run!"

She made it approximately three feet before she felt his arms around her. She pulled the ball closer to her chest, laughing as he tried to force it from her hands. He had both arms around her, trapping her, and she lurched forward, unable to escape from his grip.

She laughed again, twisting in his arms.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you get this ball," she said primly, raising her eyebrow as she clutched the football even tighter.

"I think what I'm about to do proves otherwise," he answered simply, matching her glare for glare.

She eyed him suspiciously.

"Wait, what are you—"

But before she could say anything more, she felt herself being lifted up from the ground. And she wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry or scream, but suddenly the ground was spinning and the ball was slipping through her fingertips, and she laughed, because she realized he was laughing too.

He lifted her even higher and she consciously dropped the ball to the ground, placing her palms flat on his shoulder to steady herself. His grip on her tightened, his arms wrapped around her lower back.

She smiled, looking down at him.

Neither one of them noticed that Jake had let go of Madeline and picked up the ball; He was about to call out to them, but Madeline grabbed his sleeve, hushing him.

"I told you I wouldn't let you get the ball," she murmured, slightly out of breath.

He slowly placed her on the ground. He rolled his eyes.

"Semantics," he challenged.

And even though they were surrounded by a hundred people she didn't know, and there was a leaf in her hair and mud on her boots, she kissed him, because his arms were around her waist and his eyes were blue and he hadn't pushed her to go up those stairs earlier.

But most of all, she kissed him because she wanted to.

* * *

It was two hours before kick-off, and Lisa and Madeline had snuck away to the kitchen to warm up, gather their thoughts, and maybe even spike their hot chocolate.

"So, you and Greg seem to be getting along well," Madeline teased, lifting her eyebrows at Lisa while she opened the freezer; she turned her head back and forth, checking to see that no one was around while she poured a shot or two of peppermint schnapps into their respective mugs.

Lisa rolled her eyes; Madeline had trouble figuring out if it was because of her insinuation or because of the alcohol.

"It's not exactly a secret that I like him, you know," Lisa pointed out.

Madeline smiled.

"Want to hear a secret?" asked Madeline in a sing-songy voice. She handed Lisa the travel mug of spiked hot chocolate, fully prepared to continue with her train of thought even if Lisa protested.

Lisa smirked, leaning in closer.

"Always," she answered; she was never really one to turn down gossip. She just had a habit of naively assuming it was never about her.

"Jake told me that he's never seen Greg act like this before," she whispered; they were completely alone, but she figured the nature of the conversation warranted subtlety. Madeline took a sip from her mug, wincing slightly as the alcohol hit her. "Jake said that's he never stuck with one girl this long before."

Lisa scoffed.

"Especially one that hasn't slept with him yet," continued Madeline, casting her eyes away; she was suddenly very interested in her hot chocolate.

"I've only known him for like, two weeks," she said, the realization of Madeline's words registering with her. She lifted the mug to her lips, gathering her thoughts while she sipped on her drink. "I'm not ready for that…step," she declared confidently; she wasn't about to feel guilty for not sleeping with a guy she'd only known for a few days.

"I'm not saying you should be," Madeline maintained, rushing the words out so not to misconstrue her thoughts. "I'm just saying that you should be proud of the fact that he hasn't dumped you yet," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

"You make it sound like it's inevitable," Lisa fired back, laughing at Madeline's bluntness; she wasn't offended, but she realized there was truth laced underneath Madeline's words.

Madeline sighed.

"That's not what I meant," she said, rolling her eyes.

Lisa nodded.

"I know," she said, laughing once more. "I wonder how long I can make him hold out," she whispered, joking.

Madeline giggled.

"I wouldn't hold out for too long, babe. I mean, I bet he's good. Plus, you've done it before—" Madeline paused, her eyes going wide as she spotted someone walking towards them. Flustered, she gave Lisa a serious look, her voice hardening as she said:

"Okay, I don't want you to freak out or anything, but Abigail is here and she's walking straight towards us. I haven't spoken to her since it…happened, but I'm going to go ahead and assume I'm _not _the one she wants to talk to."

Lisa froze; she couldn't tell if her heart was racing or if it had stopped beating altogether, and she was suddenly very conscious of the fact that her hair was unusually curly that day and there was mud on her boots—and _god_ why had she worn boots with a dress in the first place?

She felt Madeline's hand on her arm trying to stop her or lead her away, but she took a deep breath and turned her head—she wasn't about to run away from _this. _And sure enough, there was Abigail Reynolds—all blonde and leggy and confident, with her green eyes and casually stained red lips—walking towards them. Lisa took a deep breath; she hadn't seen Abigail since she caught her in bed with her boyfriend of a year and a half, Noah Brady.

"Do you want me to get rid of her?" Madeline asked, the sincerity clear in her voice.

Lisa shook her head gently.

"No, I uh—I need to deal with this."

Madeline nodded.

"Do you want me to go? Because if you do, you kind of need to decide, like, right now."

But Lisa didn't have time to answer. Abigail was standing right in front of them, shooting them an awkward smile as she fumbled with the bracelets on her wrist. Lisa nervously dug her nails into the sleeve of Madeline's over-sized sweater; Madeline tried not to wince.

"Hi," Abigail said meekly, the short greeting all she could muster.

Lisa remained quiet.

"What are you doing here?" Madeline demanded, her voice never faltering.

"I'm sorry," Abigail rushed out, her shoulder dropping as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "I just saw you guys over here and I thought—well, I don't really know what I thought but—"

Lisa took a sip from her mug.

"Where's Noah?" she asked primly, knowing full and well that Noah and Abigail weren't together any more.

Madeline chuckled. Abigail sighed, knowing she deserved that.

"Madeline," said Abigail, fixing her eyes on Lisa. "Would you mind excusing us for a minute?"

Madeline gave Lisa a questioning look; Lisa nodded, silently telling her she could handle it. After giving Lisa a comforting squeeze on the elbow, Madeline left the kitchen, leaving the two girls alone.

Lisa cleared her throat; she certainly wasn't going to make the first move.

"I saw you with Gregory House earlier—"

Lisa laughed mirthlessly.

"You're not seriously trying to talk to me about boys right now, are you?" she asked, marveling over Abigail's audacity.

Abigail sighed, frustrated.

"You know what? Just let it all out now. Go ahead. Scream at me, call me names, slap me, do whatever the hell you want," she said, sighing in defeat. "Then maybe we can both move on with our lives."

Lisa shook her head.

"No," she declared. "Look, I've heard your apologies and your excuses—I'm not interested in them. If you're looking for forgiveness or absolution, fine. You can have it. But I'm not going to stand here and pretend that we can go back to the way we used to be."

"Lisa, that's not why I'm—"

She laughed again, interrupting her.

"You know what the worst part of all this is, Abigail?" she asked, glaring at the timid blonde in front of her. Abigail cast her eyes to the ground; Lisa had a knack for making even the innocent feel guilty. "I loved Noah," she admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I really did. But I loved you more. And that's why it hurts so much. Because after I was done vehemently despising the two of you—after I'd vented and cried and bitched until I was blue in the face, he wasn't the one I was the most upset about losing."

Abigail ran a hand through her hair nervously.

"I know," she said honestly, lifting her green apologetic eyes towards Lisa. "And I'm sorry—I know I screwed up and you have every right to hate me, but I just need you to listen to me for like, two minutes. Then I promise I will leave you alone."

Lisa sighed and looked up; she knew what sincerity looked like on Abigail, and it was staring her right in the face. Her green eyes were wide and pleading, and she'd stopped fiddling with her jewelry and her hair, and she just looked so—defeated. Lisa almost felt guilty for being so cold with her earlier—almost.

"Fine," she said softly, folding her arms over her chest. "But make it quick."

Abigail gave her a weak smile, looking at her gratefully.

"I just want to warn you about Gregory House. I think you should—just don't get to close to him, okay?" Abigail advised. "I know I'm probably out of line—"

Lisa scoffed. "You think?" she asked, offended. "Who I date is none of your business," she hissed. "Not anymore."

Abigail nodded.

"I know. But Greg is—" she sighed, her eyes closing for a brief moment; she was struggling to get the words out. "It won't end well, Lisa. At least not for you."

Lisa eyed her quizzically.

"How do you know?" she asked tentatively; she had a feeling she knew the answer, but she wasn't prepared to hear it, _especially _from Abigail Reynolds, her sworn arch-nemesis who she couldn't help but feel a little empathy towards.

"Because it didn't end well for me."

* * *

She glared at him, her eyes flickering as he looked at her questioningly. She'd dragged him to the backside of the house, away from any prying eyes and listening ears—she wasn't interested in airing her dirty laundry to the entire lacrosse team and half of the Kappa Delta sisters.

"Were you ever going to mention the fact that you slept with Abigail Reynolds?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her head to the side.

He sighed.

"Wasn't really planning on it," he answered simply. He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Since it's none of your business."

She scoffed.

"It is absolutely my business!" she argued. "You're a smart guy, House—I'm sure you put two and two together."

He shrugged non-committedly.

"The people I've slept with in the past have nothing to do with the people I'm trying to sleep with _now_," he told her, eyeing her smugly.

She rolled her eyes.

"Skipping past the plurality of that last statement," she said swiftly, huffing slightly, "you should have told me that you had a history with her.

"I could have," he admitted. "But then you would have stopped letting me put my hand up your shirt."

She glared at him.

"That's all you care about, isn't it?" she asked. She rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't think I can do this anymore. I thought I could handle being—" she took a deep breath, pausing. "Being one of the many, but I don't think I can. I'm sorry."

He eyed her suspiciously.

"Let me get this straight. You're going to stop seeing me because I stopped seeing a girl you used to be friends with but stopped because she slept with your boyfriend? That's completely irrational," he pointed out.

She shook her head.

"Not every decision can be made based on logic, House. Maybe one day you'll learn that."

* * *

"Hey," Greg called out angrily, walking up to Abigail with a determined look on his face. He took her by the elbow, pulling her away from the crowd of people she'd been standing with.

"Gregory House," she said, surprised. "As I live and breathe."

"Don't go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong," he advised.

She scoffed.

"What are you going to do, not call me back after I sleep with you? Oh, wait." She paused, giving him a pointed look as she tilted her head to the side. "Look, as much as she may hate me right now, I still consider Lisa to be one of the best friends I've ever had. She doesn't deserve what you're going to do to her."

"Funny, coming from the girl who slept with her boyfriend. I can see how much you really care about her," he mocked.

Abigail cast her eyes to the ground.

"I really wish people would stop throwing that back in my face," she mumbled, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear. "It's not like that situation ended spectacularly well for me."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically, drawing the word out as he glared at her. "You're the real victim here."

Abigail rolled her eyes.

"Here's a hint: If you don't want girls going around and telling other girls what you're _really _like, then stop sleeping with so many girls. Better yet, stop ditching them afterwards. You're not a bad guy, Greg. You just make really shitty decisions. Trust me, I know what that's like," she noted, letting out a light laugh.

"What exactly did you say to her?" he asked, sighing. She rolled her eyes at him.

" Why? Trying to decide how much you have to tell her?" she prompted, folding her arms across her chest.

He shook his head, shrugging.

"Can't apologize if I don't know what I'm apologizing for," he said simply.

Abigail smiled at him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it gently.

"Just tell her how you feel. You'll be amazed at the amount of good that can do," she remarked, smiling at him before walking away.

But he sighed, running a hand through his hair and reaching for a beer—because he wasn't entirely sure he could do that. On the other hand, Lisa had the best ass he'd ever seen—and it would be a shame to let an ass like that go unseen.

* * *

"I can't believe Abigail was at the lacrosse house," said Olivia, reaching for a slice of pizza.

Lisa sighed as she took a slice from the box.

"Let alone the other places she's been," Madeline chimed in.

Lisa rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh—at this point, Abigail's connection to the boys in her life was almost funny.

"You want to know the most irritating thing about her?" Olivia asked

"Besides the fact that she slept with my boyfriend _and_ the guy I'm starting to have feelings for?" said Lisa flatly, reaching for a knife and fork to cut her pizza with.

"Besides that," said Olivia obviously, laughing. Her face turned serious. "Her ability to pull off a casual red lip. I mean, what is that about? We should have known she was trouble when she showed up on move-in day with her mass of blonde hair in some weird messy bun that nobody else could pull off, red lipstick, and a black t-shirt dress."

Madeline and Lisa laughed—this had always been a sore subject for Olivia.

"You want to hear something really sad and pathetic?" Lisa asked, looking up from her pizza. She popped a small piece into her mouth, sighing as she chewed. She smiled sadly. "I kind of miss having her around."

Madeline and Olivia nodded.

"Yeah," Madeline agreed, looking over at Olivia. "We do too."

Lisa sighed again.

"Anyway, I have an organic chemistry exam to study for," she said, getting up from the kitchen and grabbing her backpack from the floor, swinging it over her back.

Madeline and Olivia groaned.

"You're going to the library on a Saturday night?" Olivia asked. "But we have so much gossip to share. And wine! To drown your sorrows, obviously."

Lisa rolled her eyes.

"I've had enough socialization for one day," she answered, giving them a smile. "I promise we can play all day tomorrow."

"Fine, fine," Madeline relented. "Oh! Let's get manicures. And go to the pet store and pretend we're going to buy a puppy so they'll let us play with them."

"We can't keep doing that," Olivia interjected. "They're going to start recognizing us."

Madeline scoffed.

"I know a guy who works there. He'll let us play with them," she said confidently.

Lisa laughed.

"Of course you do," she said, grabbing another slice of pizza for the road. "I'll see you guys later."

She walked towards the door, opening it and ramming straight into the chest of Gregory House.

* * *

"Oh my god," she said, bringing a hand to her forehead and rubbing it gently. She looked up at him, embarrassed. She stumbled as she backed away from him, dropping her textbook to the ground.

She cringed, watching as her index cards went everywhere.

He laughed, bending down to help her.

"You know, this would have made for an adorable first meeting," he joked, handing her the textbook.

She smirked.

"Is that what you came over her for?" she asked, gathering up her things and standing up. "A do-over?"

He shook his head.

"Nope," he answered.

"Good," she replied, trying to move past him. "Because I'm not interested in that."

He held his hand out, placing his palm on the wall and blocking her path. She glared at him. She contemplated going underneath his arm but then thought better of it.

"I have a proposition," he declared.

She rolled her eyes.

"Does it involve an apology?"

"Sure," he lied. She rolled her eyes. "Just hear me out," he pleaded.

She motioned for him to continue.

"I've slept with a lot of girls. And, sometimes I don't call them afterwards—"

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?" she interrupted.

He shrugged.

"I have no idea. This is new to me," he answered simply. She frowned a little, biting down on her lip before lifting her eyes towards his.

She nodded, urging him to continue.

"Look," he continued, eyeing her. "I don't do relationships. You don't do casual sex. Right now, the world is telling us to cut our losses and go find somebody else who is willing to put up with all of our bullshit."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Did you seriously walk all the way over here to break up with me? We're not even dating—we haven't even—" she groaned, frustrated. "Look, as misguided as it is, it's nice that you're trying to do the right thing. I get it. You can go," she said dismissively.

She took a step forward and he did the same, inching closer to her.

"I don't think you get what I'm trying to say," he accused, tilting his head to the side.

She cast her eyes to the ground. His arm was still pressed up against the wall, trapping her in her place, and she could practically feel his lips on hers, his breath on her ear, his eyes lingering on her chest. She sighed, flickering her eyes towards his.

God, his eyes were blue.

"You're not ready for another serious relationship," he pointed out. "Lucky for you, neither am I."

"But I can't just—"

He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I've heard," he said. "But I was thinking that while you're trying to figure all your personal shit out, I could take a break from all the other girls."

She eyed him suspiciously.

"And that's something you want?" she asked, disbelieved.

He shrugged.

"They were starting to bore me anyway." He smirked at her. "This will be much more fun."

He flicked his eyes towards her textbook.

"O-Chem midterm?" he asked, nodding in her direction.

"Yeah," she answered. "Richardson. I heard it was a bitch, but I need to keep an A in that class and if I don't start studying now—"

He pressed his lips to hers, shutting her up.

"You've got to learn when to stop talking."

She rolled her eyes.

"You can't just do that, you know. Kissing is not the answer to our problems," she pointed out. "In fact, I'd say it's the very _reason _for all of our problems."

He groaned.

"Look, you have got to relax. You're twenty years old. Live a little."

She sighed.

"Fine," she relented. "You can help me study for my mid-term."

He gave her a self-satisfied grin as he dropped his hand from the wall. She grabbed his hand as they walked, turning to face him as she led him down the hallway.

"And if you're lucky, I just might make out with you behind the library stacks."

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed, little nuggets. Let me know your thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	4. I'm On Fire

_Thanks for the continued love with this story. It makes writing more fun! Note: This is my favorite chapter so far._

* * *

Lisa Cuddy slammed her book shut, sighing as she tucked her head into the crook of her shoulder. She stretched her feet out onto the couch, kicking him gently and jolting him awake.

"You're supposed to be helping me study," she scolded, holding back a laugh.

He grabbed her foot and pulled her closer, glaring right back at her. She squirmed under his grip, laughing as she sat up; she dug her fuzzy-sock clad feet into his jeans, smirking.

"You don't need my help," he pointed out, smirking at her. He draped one arm across her leg, reaching for a stack of papers. "Here," he said, holding it out towards her. "93."

She sighed, her shoulders dropping.

"Really?" she asked, defeated. "Gimme that," she ordered, taking the sheet of paper from him.

She pursed her lips as she flipped through the paper, reading over his corrections.

He eyed her suspiciously.

"93 is an A," he pointed out, perplexed by her disappointment.

She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip as she thumbed through her paper.

"93 is an A-," she corrected, distracted. "A minuses bring your GPA down. Which is complete bullshit, if you ask me. I mean, who penalizes you for getting an A? Especially when there is no difference between an A and an A+," she ranted.

"You're very passionate about this," he observed, mocking her.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Everyone should be passionate about their studies," she explained, lifting her eyebrows at him.

He rolled his eyes. He inched his hand up her leg, gripping her waist as he quickly moved on top of her, smirking as she fell back into the incredibly uncomfortable cushions of the University library couch.

"You're a freak," he said, looking down at her. She shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed. "And I lied," he continued, his hand wandering up her thigh and pausing at her hip. He dipped his thumb underneath the material of her leggings, nipping at her skin. "You got a 97 on the practice test. I took off for excessive girly handwriting."

She glared at him, her hand wandering up his chest; she tugged at the neck of his t-shirt, bringing him down towards her. She took a quick look around, ensuring they were completely alone before placing her hand at the nape of his neck.

"You're an ass," she declared, tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He shrugged, agreeing with her before slamming his lips against hers.

* * *

He stopped the car and she groaned, breathing a sigh of relief. She yawned, stretching her arms out in front of her while she turned her head to the side, eyeing him.

"See, when you suggested we go for a drive, I thought you meant something along the lines of the ice cream shop or the park where everyone goes to make out," she prodded, giving him a knowing glance.

He shrugged.

"The library monitor was very concerned by our behavior," he reminded her. She blushed, casting her eyes to the ground—they'd gotten caught on the couch in a rather compromising position. "Thought it would be best to get as far away as possible. I know what it feels like to be pelted by a belt—I imagine a book to the head is much worse," he joked.

She paused, parting her lips slightly as she shot him a curious look. She decided not to the push the issue. Smiling, she tossed her long hair over one shoulder and looked out the car door window.

"So where are we, exactly?" she asked, hand poised on the door handle.

"We've really got to work on your observation skills."

She rolled her eyes and opened the car door; she was met with a slight drop in temperature and the soft whirring of the wind. She shivered.

Glancing around, she furrowed her brow as she took in her surroundings. She heard the faint sound of rippling water and turned her head at him, confused. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Lake Michigan?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows at him. He smirked. "Please tell me we didn't drive all the way out here to sit in the sand and freeze our asses off."

He shook his head.

"Of course not," he assured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box of matches. "I brought fire," he explained, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh as she walked around to the back of his car. She lifted the trunk up and started rooting around, trying not to snoop as she moved his belongings around.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.

"Looking for the blanket that you undoubtedly keep in here," she said simply. He scoffed. "I know your type," she explained, glancing over at him. "You didn't flinch when I mentioned the park where everybody goes to make out. Means you've been there. It also means you've probably been to the other side of the mountain, where people go to have sex," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

She gave him a self-congratulatory smirk as her hands found a blanket. She tossed it to him and he caught it, impressed by her boldness.

"Just looking for evidence," she said, smirking at him.

"You know, the exponential amount of knowledge you have on predestined make-out destinations suggests you're not as innocent as you make yourself out to be," he asserted, narrowing her eyes at him.

She shrugged, giving him a devilish grin.

"I never said I hadn't been there and I definitely never claimed I was innocent," she retorted smugly. "And if you think I'm having sex on a beach, you've got another thing coming," she added, tilting her head to the side.

He nodded his head, trying to hide his disappointment. He couldn't figure out why he was still chasing this girl—she clearly wasn't going to fuck him anytime soon. Then he watched as she grabbed a sweatshirt from the trunk of his car, slipped it on over her flimsy, crème colored t-shirt and grabbed his hand.

And suddenly it all started to make sense.

* * *

"Why are your hands so small?" he asked, taking one of them in his hand and flipping it over, running his fingers across her palm. "I'm serious. How do you function? Can you even grip a coffee mug?"

She scoffed, feigning offense as she glared at him. She let out a slight laugh and leaned into his shoulder. She tossed another stick into the fire and looked up at him.

"I have excellent handiwork, you know," she said primly, giving him a knowing look.

He groaned, tilting his head back.

"You're killing me here," he said, eyeing her.

She laughed, shrugging at him—she knew she was being a bit of a tease, but her heart hadn't caught up with her mind yet, and even though she wanted him, she didn't want him to stop wanting her.

She liked him too much for that to be the outcome of their—well, whatever the hell they were doing.

Her hair fell in front of her face as she laughed, and he tucked it behind her ear, grabbing on to her neck and pulling her forward. And this time she was the one to slam her lips against his; she moaned into him, falling on top of him as she felt his hands grip tightly on to her waist.

She sucked on the bottom of his lip, breathless before pulling away; he grinned, his hand roaming up and down her thigh. He tapped his fingers against her leg before settling his hand on her ass.

"I love that you wore leather pants to go to the library," he said, teasing her as he stroked the material. He dug his thumb into the side of her hip, kneading her skin; she moaned.

"They're my lucky study pants," she answered fiercely, as if it were obvious. She pressed her lips back to his.

He tightened his grip on her, gently flipping her underneath him as their lips meshed together. He removed the heavy green jacket she was wearing, desperately wanting to touch every inch of skin on her body. She pulled away and gave him a wary look, shivering a bit. He gently pressed his lips to hers, lifting her leg up and settling himself between her thighs. He slipped his hand underneath her sweatshirt, pushing it up as he parted her lips.

She moaned into his touch—god, it felt good to be touched by him. Somehow her sweatshirt had come off and his mouth was moving from her lips to her jaw, the stubble on his face scratching against her as he dragged his head down her body. He was biting at her neck and her head was spinning, and she couldn't think—she couldn't _breath_e, and it wasn't until the cold air hit her stomach that she realized her shirt was practically off and his hands were fiddling with the clasp on her bra.

She jolted, finding his hand with her own.

"House," she warned—they'd been in this position before; clothes strewn about and skin molten with desire, but she knew he wouldn't stop unless she explicitly told him too. "We shouldn't—"

He dropped his hand from her back, moving it down to her waist. He kissed her, gently at first and then with more force, slipping his tongue between her lips. She sighed, her hands trembling as she placed it on his shoulder.

She pushed him off of her.

"I'm serious," she said forcefully. "We should stop."

He nodded, rolling off of her. He sighed, watching as she pushed her t-shirt back down and grabbed the sweatshirt she'd been wearing; a look of defeat crossed his face as she slipped it back on.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She threw another stick into the fire, desperate for something to do with her hands.

He shook his head.

"Don't be."

"You're mad," she accused.

"No I'm not," he answered truthfully. He gave her a devilish look. "But you're about to me."

She furrowed her brow, eyeing him skeptically.

"Why?"

And before she could even protest, he'd scooped her up into his arms and dragged her towards the water.

* * *

He laughed as she silently fumed to herself. He shook his head good-naturedly and turned the heat up in the car.

"It's not like I threw you _in_ the lake," he rationalized. "You didn't even get that wet."

"I had to change my top!" she argued, shoving her arm near him and pointing to the sleeve of the flannel he'd dug out from the back seat of his car.

"Are you sure you just weren't looking for an excuse to put on another one of my shirts?" he asked, teasing her. "I'm going to need those back, by the way."

She shook her head.

"You're delusional if you think I'm taking any item of clothing off," she explained. She gathered her hair into a messy bun, hastily throwing it up. "In fact, I'm starting to think this whole thing was just a ploy to see me naked."

He smirked.

"What if it was?" he asked, challenging her.

"Well then you clearly failed," she retorted primly.

He shrugged.

"Well that's what happens when you give me blue balls," he said, smirking over at her. "You get frost bite."

She bit down on her bottom lip, shaking her head as she tried not to laugh.

"You're an ass," she declared. She cleared her throat, knowing that she shouldn't ask the question she was about to ask, but her brain hadn't caught up to her mouth yet and suddenly she blurted out:

"How many girls have you slept with?"

He turned his head towards her, slightly caught off guard. He shrugged.

"No idea. Where to next? Home?"

She nodded.

"Home is fine," she answered. She sighed, giving him a questioning look. "How do you just _not_ know?"

"I've never been in a serious relationship," he placated, as if that answered the question. "And I've never been good at counting. What about you?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Two," she admitted. "Noah and—"

"Your AP Chemistry student teacher from high school," he finished. She shot him an impressive glance. "I listen when you talk," he said, nodding at her. "When you're talking about sex, at least."

She laughed.

"I just want to make sure we're on the same page," she said tentatively. "About the sex thing," she clarified.

"We are," he answered. "I get it. You have to protect your virginal presence," he said, a sarcastic bite to his voice.

She swatted him playfully on the arm.

"Look, I know it might not be as big of a deal to you, but it is to me. And I like where things are going with us, and I just don't want anything to ruin that, okay?"

He nodded.

"I get it," he answered honestly. "But just so you know, the anticipation is killing me. And you wearing my shirts isn't helping."

She pulled at the sleeve of the sweatshirt.

"Oh, sorry, did you want me to take it off?" she teased, pouting. She laughed again. "I'm sorry," she said, watching as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I promise I'll stop."

He rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

She shrugged.

"I don't have any plans yet. Why?" she asked, curious—he rarely ever asked her to do anything. Their nights usually consisted of spontaneity and impromptu make-out sessions.

"There's a Halloween party at the lacrosse house if you want to go," he said.

She gave him a perplexed look. "But Halloween is on Wednesday."

He shrugged.

"That's what happens when Halloween falls in the middle of the week. You party the weekend before and the weekend after."

She smirked.

"Do I have to dress up?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Absolutely," he said, as if it were obvious. "And make sure it's something creatively slutty. If I show up to your apartment and you're in a black dress with cat ears on your head, I'm shutting the door."

She rolled her eyes.

"And why is that?"

"Because I know you're smarter than that."

* * *

Cuddy shut the door quietly as she entered the apartment, careful not to make a sound; it was well past two in the morning, and it was impossible to get Olivia back to sleep if she was woken up. She was facing at least three games of Boggle if Olivia managed to hear her come inside.

Cuddy stifled a yawn as she threw her backpack on the kitchen counter. She practically jumped out of her skin when she spotted Madeline in the corner, her red hair sitting atop her hair in a messy bun with a pencil poking through it.

"Hey there," said Madeline mischievously. She cast her a knowing look, silently noting the time. "You've been studying for quite a while," she added, taking the pencil from her hair and biting down on it. "And you changed."

She lifted her eyebrows at Lisa, smirking.

Cuddy paused, tilting her head to the side. "It's a hard class and the library is cold," she simpered. Madeline scoffed, shooting her a look of disbelief—they both knew she couldn't lie if her life depended on it. "Fine," she relented. "I was with House and things got a little…out of control," she admitted. "I lost track of time."

She walked over to the living room and plopped on the couch, tucking a pillow behind her head and looking over at Madeline. She sighed.

Madeline narrowed her eyes. "How out of control?" she asked.

Lisa bit down on her bottom lip, her brow furrowed. "I almost fucked him on the beach at Lake Michigan," she admitted, cringing.

Madeline gasped. "That is very…school spirited of you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and grabbed another pillow, clutching it. "What is wrong with me?" she said, placing the pillow on top of her face and biting into it.

"What are you doing?" Madeline asked, laughing a little.

"Hiding," said Cuddy, her voice muffled underneath the pillow.

Madeline sighed, placing her sketchbook on the floor as she got up and walked over to the couch. She picked up Lisa's legs and sat down, placing them in her lap. Cuddy peeked over the edge of the pillow, a sad look on her face.

"This is so embarrassing," she muttered.

"No it's not," comforted Madeline.

Cuddy dropped the pillow to the floor. "Really?" she asked, disbelieved. "How often do you come really close to sleeping with a guy you really like only to chicken out at the worst possible moment?"

Madeline bit down on her bottom lip, shifting her gaze. She sighed, mustering her courage as she said:

"Try every single guy I go out with."

Cuddy sat up and shot her a quizzical look.

"Madeline, are you—"

"A virgin?" she interrupted. She shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, I am," she said simply.

"But I thought—I mean, all the guys you go out with, and you and Jake seem to be all over each other."

Madeline chuckled.

"There's a reason the guys don't last very long," she said, laughing a little. "As for Jake, well, he's a little different I guess," she answered, her eyes flickering.

Cuddy nodded.

"Do you want to?"

"Have sex?"

Cuddy nodded, shrugging her shoulders.

"Oh sweetie," Madeline soothed, placing her hand on Lisa's knee and squeezing it gently. "You're not really my type," she said, giggling.

Cuddy shoved her playfully, laughing a little. "You know what I mean," she retorted.

Madeline shrugged.

"Of course I _want_ to have sex," she answered bluntly. "I just haven't found myself in the right situation yet."

Cuddy nodded—she got that. She'd heard the stories of her friend's first times back in high school—she knew if some of them could go back and do it all over again, they wouldn't. Sometimes she didn't think she would, either.

"I'm afraid that if I sleep with House he won't be into me anymore," she admitted, casting her eyes to the ground. "And I like him too much for that to happen."

Madeline tilted her head to the side, confused.

"Isn't it usually the other way around?" she asked, perplexed. "I thought most guys were into girls that would sleep with them," she said bluntly. "It's why I'm always getting dumped."

"I thought you were the one who did the dumping."

Madeline rolled her eyes, waving her off.

"Semantics," she answered casually. "Back to you: do you want to sleep with him?"

"Yes," answered Cuddy immediately, surprising herself and catching Madeline off guard.

Madeline shrugged her shoulders. "Then I think you should," she said firmly. "When you're ready."

Cuddy sighed. "I can't make him love me, can I?" she asked sadly. She didn't know where these feelings were coming from—she'd tried for so long to suppress them, to act like she didn't have a care in the world, but she knew she was getting in too deep and soon she wouldn't be able to breathe or think or—god, she was starting to sound pathetic.

"Do you want him to?" asked Madeline.

Cuddy shrugged. "You can't always get what you want," she answered.

Madeline laughed, shaking her head at her friend and placing a comforting hand on her leg. They were startled by the sound of a door slamming.

"What on earth do the two of you think you're doing?" huffed Olivia, glaring at them. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Morning Princess," said Madeline, greeting her with a smile. She patted the empty spot on the couch. "Come join us."

"What could possibly be so important that it needs to be discussed at two in the morning?" she grumbled, shuffling her feet as she made her way over to the couch.

She plopped down on it, shooting her two friends another glare.

"Sex," Cuddy deadpanned.

Olivia nodded understandingly. She turned her head, a mischievous grin on her face as she said:

"You owe me three games of Boggle."

* * *

She put her feet up on the dashboard, shivering. She reached for the dial, turning the heat up. He smirked, knowing she was cold but refusing to admit it. His eyes lingered on her legs; she was wearing the shortest pair of cut off shorts he'd ever seen, a white tank top with the American Flag on it, and a pair of white Converses—she even had a red baseball hat sticking out of her back pocket, which he was sure she'd lose by the end of the night.

He didn't know Bruce Springsteen could be so goddamn hot.

"You insisted on me being creative and you show up wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers."

He nodded.

"Don't forget the tube socks and the sunglasses," he reminded her.

She chuckled.

"And the tube socks and the sunglasses," she repeated, looking over at him. "Oh," she exclaimed, sitting up straight. "You're Risky Business!"

He laughed.

"Took you long enough," he joked. "I like your costume, too. I thought you hated Bruce Springsteen," he said, lifting his eyebrows at her.

She shrugged innocently.

"He's growing on me," she admitted. "I guess he's not so bad," she added, her eyes lingering on him for a bit longer—they both suddenly had the feeling that they weren't talking about Bruce Springsteen anymore.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject.

"So who is going to be at this party?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Anyone who shows up. We have an open-door policy to anyone with breasts," he added.

She rolled her eyes.

"How very William McKinley of you," she replied. "Wait a second, why are we driving? Who is going to drive your car home?"

He paused, twisting his mouth a little and trying not to smile. "My apartment is right down the street," he admitted. "We can walk there when we're ready to go."

She lifted her eyebrows, smirking at him—he was confident, and she didn't usually like that, but there was something so painfully irresistible about him that she swore he could get her to do just about anything.

"Presumptuous," she teased, looking over at him as she reached for the dial to the radio. He shrugged, not daring to disagree with her.

She groaned when she heard Bruce Springsteen's husky voice fill the car. He laughed.

"There is seriously no escaping this guy!" she exclaimed, throwing her head back in laughter.

"Says the girl dressed as the Born In The U.S.A. album cover," he challenged, smirking over at her. He pulled up to the lacrosse house and parked across the street to avoid getting blocked in. He looked over at her, assuming she would get out of the car.

She didn't. She bit down on her bottom lip and turned her gaze from the window. Her eyes met his.

"We're kind of early," she mused, even though they weren't—it was almost ten, but neither one of them were going to point that out; they both knew the direction she was heading in.

"I heard this rumor that parties don't really start until 11," he said, playing along.

She smiled. "I heard that too," she murmured.

She shot him a devilish grin and turned up the radio—'I'm on Fire' continued to play. Smirking, she shifted towards him, moving on top of him with ease—she clearly had experience with avoiding emergency breaks. Her bare thighs rubbed against him as she settled her knees into the carpeted seat, her heels hitting the back of her thighs and her toes curling under his seat.

He gulped, looping his arm around her back and slipping a hand underneath her shirt; his fingers nipped at her skin and her lashes fluttered as his thumb pressed into her skin. She kissed him gently, parting her lips slowly as her other hand fumbled for the seat recliner.

"Under the seat," he murmured against her lips, knowing exactly what she was desperately searching for. She moaned into his mouth as she moved her hand from his side to his chest.

Gripping his t-shirt, she moved her lips against his, intensifying their kiss only to slow it down immediately; he cursed her inwardly—he'd never met someone so intoxicating in his entire life. She smirked as she let her lips linger against his for a moment; their lips were still and their foreheads pressed against one another's as she gently slid her hand down his abdomen. He shuddered underneath her touch, groaning as she reached for the lever.

His stomach clenched as her forearm rested against his boxers. She either knew exactly what she was doing, or he was a lucky recipient of a coincidental situation. He knew it was the former when she eyed him lustfully and pulled the handle to recline his seat.

"I don't know if anyone has ever told you this," he rasped, his breath growing unsteady as she slithered back up towards him, her breasts rubbing against his chest as she pressed a kiss to his throat. "But you're really fucking hot."

"I think it's the song," she murmured, teasing him. She captured his jaw with her lips, arching her back as she hovered over him. "It's turning me on."

But before he could do anything about that, she was shifting off of him. He was frustrated for all of a second before he felt her lips sneaking down his chest, drawing promising kisses to his abdomen as her hands followed, sliding down his chest and pausing at the waistband of his boxers.

He shuddered a breath as he watched her sink on to her knees. Her lips paused right below his navel, and she lifted her eyes thoughtfully at him as she pulled away.

"Cuddy," he groaned, showing her his appreciation but urging her to continue.

She licked her lips and reached for the hair tie on her wrist, swiftly sweeping her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. He took a deep breath—experience told him that when girls did that, they were serious about what they were about to do.

She slipped a hand into his boxers, stroking him gently as she continued her trail of kisses down his abdomen, simultaneously moving her hand and her lips in a rhythmic motion that made his breathing shift from ragged to practically non-existent. She pushed his boxers down with one hand and quickly replaced her other hand with her lips, wrapping her mouth around him.

He thrust his head back, gritting his teeth as he tried to fight the selfish urge to reach for her hair.

She pressed her palm into his thigh, her patriotically painted nails digging into his skin as she slowly moved her head. Her tongue slowed, pausing at his tip as she arched her back and gently sucked on him. She moved her mouth further down, reaching up and finding his hand. She laced her hand with his and brought it down to her hair, letting him know that she didn't mind—she lifted her eyes towards him, and he swore right then and there that he might just have to start believing in God.

He gently moved her head back and forth, his chest tightening and his stomach clenching as she sent him over the edge. His muscles relaxed and he loosened his grip on her, but it was the loud knocking on the window that caused her to immediately release him.

She froze as she saw Jake-who clearly didn't realize what he was walking in on-slowly back away. He gave them an awkward wave before jogging off towards the house.

House looked down at Cuddy, who was on her knees, wide-eyed.

"You okay?" he asked, his breath heavy as he tried to recover.

She swallowed, licked her lips once more, and let down her hair.

"Yeah. Do you have an altoid?"

* * *

They walked into the lacrosse house, their hands immediately finding one another's as they were met by masses of people and the smell of cheap beer.

"I gotta say, I'm suddenly a huge fan of Bruce Springsteen," he said into her ear, pulling her closer.

She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Like you weren't one before," she teased, squeezing his hand. She spotted Madeline and Olivia huddled in the corner and lifted her other hand up, waving at them.

They gave her a knowing smile and glanced down to her interlocked hand. She shrugged innocently.

"I'm going to go find Jake," he said, looking up and spotting her friends out of the corner of his eye. "Make sure he doesn't go spreading lies about how slutty you are," he joked. She laughed—they both knew Jake wasn't the type.

She nodded and let go of his hand. "I'll be with Madeline and Olivia. Just find me later," she said, shouting over the music.

He gave her a tight squeeze on the elbow and pushed people out of the way, making a path for her. She rolled her eyes as he smirked, walking away. She walked up to Madeline and Olivia, who met her with lifted eyebrows and folded arms.

"What are we drinking?" Lisa asked, not bothering to give them a proper greeting.

"Tequila," Olivia answered immediately. "Madeline is already drunk."

"I got here an _hour_ ago!" she said, slightly defensive as she reached for the bottle. "Parties are boring when you don't like half the people and don't know the other two thirds," she rambled.

Lisa chuckled. "Two-thirds and one-half don't make a whole," Lisa pointed out. She motioned for a shot, which Madeline went to pour—Olivia immediately took the bottle from her hands and poured it herself.

She handed it to Lisa, rolling her eyes and letting out a laugh.

"Whatever, math was never my strong suit," Madeline shouted. "I'll sit this one out," she said, handing Olivia the shot she'd planned on taking herself. "Catch up, ladies!"

Lisa and Olivia laughed as they clinked their glasses together and each took a shot. Lisa winced as the tequila slid down her throat.

"I take it we're skipping the salt and lime aspect of this?" she wondered aloud.

"We didn't think that far ahead," Olivia answered as she went to refill their glasses.

Lisa nodded as she gripped her slightly shaking hand around the shot glass and lifted it to her lips—that was the problem with tequila: it was so easy to shoot, you didn't think twice about doing another.

"Okay," said Lisa as she pointed at Olivia, who was dressed in an over-sized pink sweater, tights, and a lavish set of pearls. "You're clearly Molly Ringwald from the Breakfast Club, but what the hell is Madeline supposed to be?"

Madeline shrugged, a smug grin on her face as she looked down at her short black dress that was covered by a faux-fur coat. She clicked her red Jimmy-Choos together. "I'm the next editor of Vogue," she simpered. She reached for the bottle of tequila and poured them each another shot. "You guys are still behind. I'm going to sober up by the time the two of you get drunk."

Lisa shrugged and took another shot—Madeline was right: the only way to enjoy a frat party was to get drunk. Otherwise you start to notice how dirty the floor is.

"I have to tell you guys something," said Lisa as she placed her shot glass on the table they were huddled around. They looked at her with anticipation, and Madeline went to pour them each another shot.

Olivia quickly took the half-empty bottle away from her.

"I gave House a blow job right before we came into the party," she admitted, trying—and failing—to lower her voice to a whisper.

Madeline widened her eyes and Olivia gave her a proud, congratulatory smirk.

"I'm still confused as to why you call him House," Olivia said, stumbling over her words a bit.

Cuddy shrugged and turned her head, looking around the party; she didn't see House or Jake anywhere. She reached for another shot. "Because nobody else does," she answered simply.

"You're so profound when you're drunk," replied Madeline.

They were interrupted by a familiar mass of wavy blonde hair. Abigail Reynolds rushed over to them, giving them all an apologetic smile as she made her way into their small circle.

"I need you all to pretend that you don't hate me for like, ten minutes," Abigail said, giving them a pleading look. "These three girls won't leave me alone."

"Why?" asked Madeline, feigning sincerity. "Did you sleep with one of their boyfriends?"

"Madeline!" Olivia hissed, glaring at her friend.

Abigail laughed—she knew Madeline tended to get bitchier when she drank.

"No," Abigail answered swiftly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaning in closer. "They're trying to get me to rush Kappa Delta," she said matter-of-factly.

The three girls nodded in understanding and looked over at each other, shrugging and exchanging silent agreements. Lisa was the first to speak. She reached for the bottle of tequila and said:

"Want to get drunk with us?"

* * *

"Remember when we put caution tape all over Olivia's door at two in the morning?" Lisa asked, laughing as she sipped on her drink—they'd taken a break from shots for the time being.

Abigail threw her head back in laughter; Olivia grumbled as she took a sip of her drink.

"That was almost as good as the time we re-organized all of Madeline cups," said Abigail proudly. She looked over at Madeline, who was laughing along with them. "You were confused for days."

"I take the organization of my cups very seriously," she defended, reaching for her drink. Madeline squinted her eyes. "There's a boy coming over here," she announced. "But I'm a little drunk so I can't exactly tell who it is."

Olivia scoffed.

"A little?" she questioned mockingly.

Cuddy turned around with a smile on her face, expecting it to be House. She froze when she realized it was Noah Brady, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a football jersey, with a beer in his hand. She squared her shoulders as she met his green, flickering eyes.

"Hey," he said lazily, smiling at her. She scoffed and attempted to take a step forward, but instantly had to grab the side of the table—how many tequila shot had she done, exactly? She couldn't remember. She figured that was a bad sign.

He laughed and extended his arm out to her; she didn't take it.

"You okay?" he asked, chuckling.

"Fine," she stammered. "Can I help you with something?"

He shrugged. "Just want to talk," he said simply. He looked over her shoulder, meeting the glaring faces of Olivia, Madeline, and Abigail—though Abigail had quickly reached for the bottle of tequila in preparation.

The three girls rolled their eyes and looked away.

"You look good," he pointed out, eyeing her up and down. She rolled her eyes once more. "Bruce Springsteen?" he guessed, smirking. "I thought you hated that guy?"

"What do you want?" she demanded icily. She folded her arms over her chest, irritated; Noah always had a knack for showing up at the worst possible times. "I've said all I want to say to you. Nothing has changed."

He scoffed.

"I see you're hanging out with Abigail again."

"What?" she questioned innocently. "Are you jealous? Afraid we'll swap stories and compare orgasms?"

He shuddered a breath. "I forgot how blunt you are when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," she said, slurring her words a bit.

He nodded, chuckling as he gave her a skeptical look.

"I just thought that—I don't know, you're hanging out with Abigail again, which must mean you've forgiven her on some level—"

Lisa laughed mirthlessly, bringing her drink to her lips. She took a small sip.

"You're not seriously asking me if we can get back together, are you?"

He shrugged, not answering her. She rolled her eyes.

"I have to go," she said, glaring. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, causing her to stumble a bit.

"Wait," he pleaded, holding her up with his arm. She glared and shook him off. "Is this about Gregory House?"

"Excuse me?" she demanded.

"I heard you were seeing him."

"From who?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know, everyone. People have seen you guys around, Lise. You're not exactly being secretive about it."

"Don't call me that," she hissed, the familiar nickname causing her heart to drop to the pit of her stomach. "And stay out of my private life! It doesn't concern you anymore. You made damn sure of that the minute you jumped into bed with my best friend," she retorted.

"Why are you getting so upset?"

She groaned in frustration.

"Because you stabbed me in the back and now you're standing in front of me asking why I'm bleeding!" she exclaimed, her voice shaking slightly.

Lisa felt a calming hand on her elbow, trying to tug it away. She closed her eyes, desperately hoping it wasn't House—she really wasn't in the mood to discuss this with him. She was pleasantly surprised when she heard Abigail's soft, calming voice.

"Leave her alone, Noah. You're not doing anyone any good at this point."

He nodded, shaking his head at the irony of it all. He put his hands up. "Okay, I'm going. But he's going to hurt you, Lisa. And we all know it."

Abigail glared at him. "You don't know when to stop, do you?" she hissed.

Noah rolled his eyes and walked away, heading back over to the crowd of people he'd come to the party with. Lisa took a deep breath and lifted her eyes, meeting Abigail's sympathetic gaze.

Abigail gently tugged on her elbow, playfully rocking her back and forth. Lisa smiled.

"You okay?" she asked sincerely. Lisa nodded. "Want to keep drinking? I still don't think we've caught up with Madeline yet," she said, laughing a bit.

Lisa smiled, shaking her head.

"That's okay. I, um—I have to go find someone," she answered mysteriously, not knowing that Abigail saw right through her.

"Okay," she said, giving Lisa a knowing smile. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she joked.

Lisa let out a slight laugh and gave Abigail an innocent look, deciding it would be in bad taste to point out the fact that apparently, she'd already done it.

* * *

She found him in the middle of the back room, looking disinterested as he scanned the crowds. Presumably, he was looking for her. She drained the rest of her drink—how many was that, anyway? It didn't matter. She strode confidently over to him.

"There you are," he said, greeting her. She grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the small circle of people that she assumed formed around him. They all gave her strange looks—turns out she was right.

He smirked as he got closer to her, pushing past people as she led him to the corner of the room. Their hands were awkwardly fumbling for one another in the dark, each desperate to touch any inch of skin they could get their hands on. She pushed him against the wall, wrapping an arm around his neck and anchoring herself on to his body. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer before slipping a hand into the back pocket of her jeans.

She kissed him, hard, parting her lips immediately and not really caring who saw—not that what they were doing was anything out of the usual. It wasn't really a party unless there were couples pressed up against the wall, lips and limbs tangled together as lines blurred and music blared. Lisa Cuddy didn't feel guilty—her heart simply didn't have the room for it.

He pulled away, breathless. "I'd offer you a drink, but it seems like you've already had a few."

She tugged on his t-shirt, her lips inches away from him. "Getting another drink would require leaving this spot," she whispered huskily. She kissed him once more, tugging on his bottom lip. "I'm not really interested in that."

He squeezed her ass with his palm, somehow bringing her closer to him than she thought simple gravity would allow. She leaned into him, her pelvis brushing against the waistband of his boxers and her knee pressing into his bare thigh as she moved against him. Their skin stuck together like magnets as sweat from the crowded room and built up tension spilled over their bodies. Her lips found his once more and she dragged her hand down his shirt, pausing right below his navel and pressing her thumb into his hot, slick skin.

"Although now that you mention it," she said, her voice heavy and laced with sexual tension, "I think it's time we got out of here."

"It's barely midnight," he pointed out, kissing her once more. She tasted like tequila and sex, her lips burning with desire as they meshed against his. And for a fleeting moment, he thought she might just taste like _too _much tequila, but then she slipped her tongue into his mouth and he, well—

He thought he might pass out.

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from her, their limbs separating and their breaths growing heavier with every fumble of the hand and stolen touch in the dark.

"Then again, I'm pretty sure it was the philosopher Bruce Springsteen who said 'We gotta get out while we're young.'"

* * *

_If you haven't listened to I'm on Fire, you should look it up-it's the sexiest song in the entire world. _

_-Alison _


	5. I'm Goin' Down

_A/N: You all think you know what's going to happen in this chapter. Ha._

* * *

The door slammed.

She giggled as she stumbled into his apartment, her arms wrapped around his neck while he desperately tore at her clothing, their lips crashing together and moans of pleasure filling the otherwise silenced apartment. Her head was spinning and his hands were all over her, ravaging her as if he'd never have the chance again. Her head lolled as she felt herself being hoisted up against the wall, his hands gripping her thighs as he pressed his mouth to that hollow space below her neck.

She groaned appreciatively.

Her legs were shaking so she wrapped them lazily around his waist, opening her eyes and giving him a sly, drunken, smile. He laughed, gripping her thighs tighter and pressing his lips on to hers for a slow, drawn out, passionately drunken kiss. She tore her hands through his hair, guiding his lips down her chest as she moved against him.

"It's just so convenient you're wearing boxers," she murmured, slipping a hand down to his waist.

"Time for you to catch up," he mumbled against her chest.

She stumbled a bit as he set her down, but he was too focused on the removal of her tank top and the bright red bra that held her perky breasts to notice—god, he hoped she was wearing a navy blue thong underneath. Cuddy giggled again as she grabbed on to his neck, anchoring her body towards his as he led her down the hall and into his bedroom, palming her ass and slipping a hand into the back pocket of her denim cutoffs. He shut the door quietly, lifting her slightly off the ground so that her breasts rubbed up against his chest.

He suddenly thanked God for Bruce Springsteen and tequila.

Breathing heavily, she moaned into his kiss, sucking on his bottom lip and pulling away from it slowly. She looked at him, her eyes dancing as his hands roamed all over her body—they travelled from her neck to her chest, pausing to traipse a thumb over her nipples. Her head lolled to his shoulder as his hand wrapped around her waist, his thumb pressing into the dips of her spine and the curves of her body.

She sucked in her breath as he slipped his hand between her thighs, rubbing the denim material as he kissed her throat. Her hips immediately bucked towards his and she fumbled for his hand, redirecting it to the button of her shorts.

"I was getting there," he warned, smirking up at her as he pushed her shorts down. His breath caught in his throat when he realized she _was_ wearing a navy blue thong.

"Just trying to speed this up," she answered slowly, drawing her words out.

He paused, looking at her and dropping his hands—this wasn't the sort of thing she would normally want to speed up. She groaned in frustration. He flipped on the light and she recoiled, squinting as the dull light from the lamp filled the room. House looked at her more closely—her eyes were tired and bloodshot, and she had a lazy grin on her face.

He took a deep breath, sighing.

"Fuck."

Cuddy giggled, reaching for his hands.

"I thought that's what we were doing."

He shook his head. "You're way too drunk for this," he said, disappointed. He should have known, though—she was never that forward in public. And now that he thought about it, her hands were more shaky than normal, and he'd been holding her up the entire time, and—and fuck tequila, frankly.

She leaned back against the bed, resting her elbows on the sheet, poking her chest out to draw his attention back. And he smirked, because he knew the real reason she was doing that was because she couldn't stand up straight.

"I—" she began proudly, lifting her finger up and pointing at him, "am not drunk."

He laughed again, bringing a hand to his head and running it through his hair. He walked towards her.

"Yes you are," he retorted, taking her hand and putting it at her side. He grabbed a sweatshirt and lifted her arms up, catching one last glance at her breasts. He placed a hand on her chest, sighing as he cupped a breast with her hand. "I hope we meet again soon," he said.

She glared at him.

"If you're not going to fuck me you better get your hands off my chest," she mumbled, groaning.

"Next time you'll learn to pace yourself," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He placed his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the bed. "Up you go," he said, the words barely registering in her mind.

She was getting sleepy. Her eyes fluttered.

"Where are you going?" she muttered. He pulled a blanket over her body and gave her a knowing look.

He sighed and pointed down to his boxers—she giggled and brought a hand to her face, slightly embarrassed.

"To take a shower," he said matter-of-factly. She laughed again and grabbed his hand. He groaned—she really needed to stop touching him.

"If I'm still awake when you come back, can we have sex?" she asked seriously.

He shook his head in amusement and kissed her gently, in spite of himself.

"Sure, boozie," he murmured, knowing full well that she would fall asleep the minute he left the room.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and flicked off the light. He sighed again and looked down at her, groaning in defeat as he said:

"Fuck tequila."

* * *

Lisa Cuddy felt a sharp pain in her head as she opened her eyes. Groggily, she looked around the unfamiliar room, slightly panicking when she didn't recognize a single thing. She looked down and saw the arm sprawled across her waist. Suddenly it all came rushing back to her.

She cringed—her mother had always warned her about the dangers of tequila.

She turned her head towards him. His eyes were closed and his breath was steady, and she rolled her eyes, because even when he was sleeping, his mouth curved into a devious little _smirk. _

She figured she had about three options: curl up underneath his arm and pray _really_ hard that the whole night was just a dream, fumble around in the dark for her clothes and make the three mile walk back to her own apartment in the freezing cold, or face the humiliation of waking up next to him in the morning.

She groaned as quietly as possible—there were too many decisions to make and she was pretty sure she was still drunk.

Gently, she picked up his arm and placed it at his side, wiggling out from underneath him. She froze when he readjusted in his sleep. When he didn't seem to wake up, she placed her feet firmly on the ground and quietly tiptoed out of his room. She pulled on the sweatshirt she didn't remember putting on, and then cringed _again_, because that meant he must have put it on for her.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she spotted a familiar mass of red hair poking out from the half-opened refrigerator door.

"Madeline," she hissed in a questioning manner—she was almost positive it was her, but with the way her night was going, she was talking to some random girl that Jake had brought home.

The redhead jumped and turned her head, wide eyed. Cuddy sighed in relief, meeting the confused, flickering eyes of her friend.

"Hi," Madeline squeaked, furrowing her brow.

"Hi," Lisa retorted, fidgeting with the frays on the sweatshirt.

The two girls stared quietly at each other for a moment, neither one of them sure what to do. Madeline was the first to break, erupting into a fit of laughter; Cuddy quickly followed, bringing a hand to her head as she walked over to the refrigerator.

"Is there even anything in there?" she asked, suddenly very aware of just how thirsty she was.

Madeline chuckled. "Beer," she answered, rolling her eyes. She rooted around in the fridge for something a little more appealing, smiling as she grabbed two bottles of Gatorade. "Jackpot," she said, tossing one to Cuddy.

Cuddy smiled appreciatively and brought the bottle to her lips. She almost choked when she realized Gatorade wasn't the _only _thing in the bottle.

"Don't drink that," she croaked, placing a hand on her chest. "It's mixed with vodka."

"You've got to be kidding me," Madeline grumbled. "Are boys perpetually drunk?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't even think I'm sober yet," she admitted, laughing. "What are you doing here, by the way?"

"Well, after you pulled your little disappearing act—which I want details on, by the way—Jake joined our little group and we ended up playing some drinking game that I'd never heard of and can't be bothered to remember. Jake and I walked over here once the party died down," she said, stifling a yawn. She looked Cuddy up and down. "Can we talk about your outfit for a second?"

Cuddy cringed for what felt like the millionth time that night.

Madeline smirked. "You had sex with him, didn't you?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"Almost," she answered diplomatically. Madeline gave her a confused look. Sighing, she continued. "I mean, we were close. Like, 'I don't even know where most of my clothes are' close. Then he decided I was too drunk," she said simply. She twisted her mouth a little, the curves of her lips turning into a smile. "Which I probably was. So he put this sweatshirt on me, put me in bed, and went to take a shower. This story gets worse every time I think about it," she mumbled to herself.

Madeline brought a hand to her lips, suppressing a laugh.

"Go ahead and laugh," Cuddy prompted. "Get it out of your system."

"I'm sorry," Madeline said through her laughter, throwing her head back. "I'm just picturing Greg getting to the point where he realized you were too drunk and hating himself for it. Oh my god! Now I get the shower thing. But hey, at least he didn't take advantage of you."

"I guess. Except now he probably won't ever want to see me again. Which is you know, fine. We've pretty much been doomed from the beginning."

Madeline rolled her eyes.

"You are so dramatic," she joked.

"You're telling me you wouldn't be embarrassed if our current roles were reversed?"

"I'm just saying you shouldn't jump to conclusions. I mean, yeah, it's not an ideal situation—but when is it ever? It's going to be awkward and scary whenever you do it. At least now you got some of the pent up frustration out of the way. And now you know you really _do_ want to sleep with him."

Cuddy nodded. "What's that phrase Abigail used to say all the time?"

Madeline laughed.

"Drunk actions are sober thoughts."

Cuddy yawned again, glancing down the hall to House's bedroom.

"I'm scared to go back in there," she admitted. "What if he like, wakes up or something?"

Madeline sighed—she didn't really want to go back into Jake's room, either. Sneaking out of a boy's room was awkward enough; sneaking back in wasn't even an option.

"That couch seems big enough for the both of us," she suggested.

Cuddy nodded.

"I'll grab a blanket."

* * *

House stared down at the two tangled bodies, his head tilted to the side and his arms folded across his chest. He turned towards Jake, who was looking down quizzically.

"I'm actually surprised this has never happened before," Jake remarked.

House leaned forward. Cuddy's sweatshirt had ridden up in the middle of the night, exposing the smallest hint of her thigh, and he could just make out the strap to her, red-lacy bra. Her legs were tangled around Madeline, who had her head buried in Cuddy's shoulder.

House gulped.

"Is it wrong to be turned on right now?" House asked.

"Like you'd care if it was," Jake retorted. House shrugged, silently agreeing with him. "Should we move them? Wake them up?"

"We're awake," Madeline mumbled.

Cuddy laughed into her hair. "We heard you staring," she said, opening her eyes and flickering them towards House. "And it is absolutely wrong for you to be turned on right now," she added primly.

House eyed her, matching her glare for glare.

Madeline cleared her throat. "Should we leave the room so you guys can continue your little eye-sex game?"

Cuddy shoved her playfully. "We should go," she prompted, shifting her gaze to the door.

"Are you sure? I mean it's barely eleven, we could—"

"I'm sure," Cuddy interrupted, giving Madeline a frustrated look. Madeline quickly nodded, the memory of what happened last night coming back to her.

"Your clothes are still in my room," House pointed out obnoxiously.

Cuddy glared and Madeline stifled a laugh.

"I'll get them," he clarified, smirking down at her. "Better yet," he began, reaching over the couch and swiftly gathering her into his arms. She squealed, laughing as she tried to fight him off. "You can help me."

"Put me down," she ordered, giggling as she tugged on the sleeve of his grey V-neck t-shirt.

"No can do, boozie," he said, carrying her down the hall towards his bedroom. "This is simply a precaution. You might still be drunk and I wouldn't want you to stumble all the way down the hall. That would be embarrassing and inefficient," he explained.

"Yes, because _that_ would be the embarrassing part of this entire situation," she drawled.

He patted her ass in a mockingly sympathetic manner and closed the door to his bedroom.

"Maybe next time you won't befriend Jose Cuervo so quickly," he retorted.

"I'm never going to live this down," she murmured into his shoulder. Her lips gently brushed against his neck as she spoke and she caught the faintest smell of his aftershave; she closed her eyes, breathing him in.

He smirked and turned his head to the side, his forehead brushing up against her hair. He casually flopped her down on the bed. She winced—god, her head hurt.

"You might need these," he said, throwing her the denim shorts she was wearing last night. She sighed as she pulled them over her legs; shorts were acceptable when she was drunk off tequila and the feeling of Gregory House pressed up against her skin, but in the crisp morning air of October, she imagined she'd feel a bit different.

She gave him a small smile as she stood up. She went to pull of the sweatshirt she gave him, but he shook his head, stopping her.

"You can keep it," he said casually as he walked over to her. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer, smirking down at her. "I'll pull it off the next time I see you."

She let out a small laugh and pressed her lips to his. "You won't feel weird about taking your own clothes off of me?"

"Oh, it will be weird," he joked. "But I'll get over it when I start touching your boobs."

She slapped him playfully and kissed him once more, letting her lips linger; she figured that was a better goodbye than another lame apology that was wrapped in guilt and laced with embarrassment.

And she didn't stop him when he walked her towards the door, their lips still locked and their hands laced together as he gently pressed her up against the wall. She looped her arm around his neck and parted her lips—Madeline could wait another ten minutes.

* * *

She didn't hear from him for over a week. She tried not to think about it, though. She understood; she was young, inexperienced, and a little naïve. But on the other hand, she gave him one of the best blowjobs she'd ever given, and she was really looking forward to him returning the favor.

But she pushed _that_ selfish thought out of her mind as she rearranged in her seat, placing her water bottle on the ground and fetching three pens from her backpack. She placed the pens on her desk and took a deep breath, anxiously tapping her foot on the ground as she nervously waited for the exam to start. She averted her eyes to the ground as the TA began to pass out the exam packets. Technically, she was auditing this class, so she wasn't supposed to take the exams—but she liked to show up and take them just to see how well she was absorbing the information. And they usually got graded, which she liked to think was a result of her obvious above-average intelligence, but she was ninety-eight percent sure it was because the TA enjoyed looking down her shirt.

Either way, she was acing all the exams, so she simply couldn't be bothered to care.

She rolled her eyes as she felt someone tap her on the shoulder; the exam was about to begin and talking was no longer allowed. She turned around and met the familiar smirk of Gregory House.

She eyed him quizzically.

"You got a lot of pens there," he observed, flicking his eyes to her desk. He rested his elbows on the back of her chair. "Mind if I borrow one?"

"Who comes to an exam without a pen?" she simpered, lifting her eyebrows at him.

He shrugged.

"Someone who found out there was an exam five minutes ago," he answered.

She rolled her eyes and reached for a pen. "Since when are you even in this class?" she hissed, handing him the pen.

He grinned, letting his fingers linger over hers as he took it. "Since always," he said, pulling the cap of the pen off with his teeth. "If I'd known you were taking this class I'd have made it a habit to show up."

"Based on the lack of communication we've had in the past week, I highly doubt that," she retorted smartly.

He eyed her suspiciously, his eyes dancing. Her lips parted slightly as she eyed him right back.

"Phone works both ways," he said, challenging her. He shrugged, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Thought you might still be recovering. That Jose Cuervo sure can be a bitch."

She let out a slight laugh and shook out her head. She looked at him again—he had this uncanny ability to make her forget she was mad at him. She could already tell that look in his eyes was going to get her in a lot of trouble.

"I was perfectly fine by Sunday afternoon," she quipped. She refrained from telling him she spent the entire day in bed nursing a headache and hiding under her pillow.

He smirked and climbed over the row of seats separating them. He flopped down in the one next to her.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "The exam is about to start."

"I know. Why do you think I'm sitting next to you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, although she had a few guesses.

"It means I haven't been to any of the classes and I'm sure you take excellent notes," he said obviously.

She glared at him.

"You're crazy if you think I'm letting you cheat off of me," she said, her voice hardening.

He smirked.

"You seem to preface a lot of your declarations with that," he said, looking her up and down. The packet of exams reached him and he took one, handing her the pile. He ran his thumb over her hand as he spoke. He leaned in closer, whispering:

"But we both know you always give in to me."

She closed her eyes and let her hand linger against his. When she opened her eyes, she pulled her hand away and placed her exam booklet on the desk. The she tilted it to the right.

Damn him.

* * *

It was raining by the time they got out of the exam. She sighed as she fumbled for the bright yellow umbrella in the side pocket of her backpack.

"I'm just going to warn you now. If you say one word about the way my hair looks in this rain, I swear to god you will never know what other parts of me feel like when they get wet."

He laughed.

"I won't mock your hair," he promised. "I will however, mock the ridiculous duck on the handle of your umbrella."

"Don't insult Gilbert," she said, feigning offense as she gripped the handle of her umbrella tighter. She shifted the umbrella and curled up against his side so that they both fit underneath. "He was a going away present from my father the first year I left for college."

"Last ditch effort to convince himself that his precious little girl still likes ducks?" he asked, tugging at the bottom end of her jacket.

She laughed and swatted him playfully. She fell into step with him, turning her head to the side to shield herself from the rain. Normally she hated the rain—it was messy and inconvenient and it made her hair completely unmanageable—but as she clutched on to his arm and matched him stride for stride, she decided that at this particular moment, it wasn't so bad.

"No, he just said it was the one thing he always forgot when he was at school. Plus, we used to go feed the ducks together at the lake in my neighborhood. It was our thing."

He nodded.

"Sentimental and practical," he mused.

"That's kind of my dad's MO. My mom on the other hand…"

"What?" he asked, nudging her.

She laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know. She gave me her mother's watch and a box of condoms. She said that way I'd never be late for anything," she explained, laughing through her words. "My dad got really mad at her about the condom thing."

House shrugged. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. They'd already passed the street that led to his apartment; she assumed they were heading towards hers.

"He didn't know you were having sex?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"No. He was too embarrassed to ask me himself so he asked my sister Julia. She panicked and lied. Told him Mom was just giving them to me as a joke."

House shrugged.

"Everybody lies."

Cuddy tilted her head to the side, lifting her eyes towards his. The rain dripped off from the umbrella and on to her shoulder, and she lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek; she stroked his face with her thumb.

She felt like a teenager in the adult section of the library. She was too young for him—in age and in life—but she was so desperate to understand, so willing to reach beyond her emotional capabilities that sometimes he would reveal this little sliver of himself to her and she swore she was falling in love.

She lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to his lips.

"Sometimes people tell the truth," she whispered.

He chuckled. She was right—but so was he, and he hoped one day she would realize that.

"You trust too much, Lisa Cuddy."

"I know. It's going to cost me a lot of heartbreak one day," she joked.

He nodded in his head in agreement—he wasn't going to deny that. But neither was she, and he kind of liked that. People had let her down in the past, and people would let her down in the future, but she didn't let that stop her from doing things like sharing her umbrella with a guy like him.

* * *

"There's a boy coming inside," Cuddy announced as they walked into the door, their hands interlaced. "So put on a shirt if you don't want House to see you half naked," she warned.

House gave her a perplexed look. "Is it normal for them not to be wearing clothes? Because if that's the case, we definitely need to start hanging out over here more."

She shrugged.

"I hate to contribute to the male fantasy, but girls hang out in their bra and underwear all the time," she answered simply. "Especially on days like this. I doubt they even bothered going to class, let alone getting dressed," she explained.

"Mads? Liv?" Cuddy yelled as she slipped out of her rain boots and threw her hair up into a messy bun. She shrugged and looked over at House. "I guess they're not here."

She sighed and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She thought about coming up with some bullshit excuse for them to go to her room—like asking him to watch a movie, or something equally transparent and cliché—but she figured he would see right through that. And the last thing she wanted him to see her as was a cliché. Because then the ending to their story might follow suit—and she was trying so hard to prevent that from happening.

So she gave him a smile and grabbed his hand, which he immediately took, pulling her closer towards him. She gently pressed her lips to his, moaning into his touch as his hands gripped her waist. She parted her lips and led him down the hall to her bedroom.

Her mouth moved against his in a familiar rhythm, their hands exploring memorized skin and bones as their minds toyed with the idea of unchartered waters—they were alone and it was raining, and she wasn't drunk of tequila, just drunk off the sight of him and the feeling of lips against hers.

She felt her thighs slam against the edge of her bed, and she let out a deep, ragged breath. He gripped her waist even tighter and pushed down her black leggings, their limbs entangling together as they fell on to the bed.

He brushed his thumb across her stomach, moving from one hipbone to the other. He pressed a kiss to the skin right below her navel.

"Thought you weren't going to let me see any parts of you that were wet," he mumbled against her skin. He flicked his eyes up towards hers, taking pleasure in the way her eyes were fluttering and her back was starting to arch.

"Everybody lies," she quipped, throwing his words back to him.

He mumbled something incoherent against her and kissed down her stomach, his hands fumbling with the unimpressive cotton underwear she was wearing. She threw her head back into the pillow, her hands gripping the sheet as his mouth moved against her. She bent her knee, letting him fall to the space between her thighs. She reached for his t-shirt, desperate to pull it off of him—but instead of kissing up her stomach like she expected, his lips moved down her skin and his hands cradled her thighs. Swiftly, he sung her legs over his shoulders.

She shuddered a breath and arched her back as his lips kissed across her folds.

"House," she murmured, "you don't have to—", her voice stopped as he flicked his tongue against her, sucking and licking and biting and pushing her to a place she'd never been before.

"Have to," he said in mock disgust, his hands wandering over her thighs as he breathed against her. "You have so much to learn, Cuddy."

He dipped his tongue inside of her and she let out a gasp, her breath going from ragged to practically non-existent as he lavished her. He was fast at first, taking pleasure in the act while her body writhed below him, her nails digging into the sheets and reaching for any inch of his skin that she could possibly find. She bucked her hips up towards his mouth, pushing her body closer to his and balancing on her forearms as she arched her back. Her toes curled as he blew on her center.

He eventually slowed his rhythm, letting her bask in the pleasure of his tongue against her core and his lips against her hot, molten, skin. The muscles in her legs tightened and she dug her heels into his shoulders.

He looped his arms around her thighs, cradling her. She gasped.

"Don't stop," she ordered, whimpering slightly. "God," she moaned, her body shaking as she rode out her high. She gasped and moaned, shifting her eyes down towards his as he slowed his pace, helping her to ride out her orgasm. He watched her orgasm from beginning to end, enjoying the way she moved from a whimper to an all out-scream and feeling her toes curl against his skin.

He held her hips steady as she collapsed back into the sheets. He rolled off of her and draped an arm across her middle. He patted her thigh.

"At least now the entire building knows what you sound like when you orgasm."

* * *

"You done with _Vogue_?" Abigail asked as she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and kicked her feet up. "I'll trade you for _Vanity Fair_."

Cuddy nodded and handed over the magazine—she spotted one of her biology books poking out from her bag in the corner and for a fleeting moment considered forgoing handbags for DNA structures, but thought better of it. If she was really trying to reconnect with Abigail, she felt she should make an actual effort—otherwise it wasn't worth her time or energy.

"What kind of wine is this?" Cuddy asked, sipping on it as she flipped through the magazine.

"Peach I think. I don't know, my mom bought it for me. She likes to order it when we go out because she thinks it makes her look younger," she said, rolling her eyes as she laughed. "Did I tell you she lost another ten pounds? So now she assumes every item of clothing I left at home is up for grabs."

Cuddy smiled. Abigail had gotten her good looks naturally—her mother could practically be described as a "Park Avenue Princess"—but she'd always been concerned with showing her age.

"Well Julia is a senior in high school now, so you can only _imagine_ the things she's coming to me for advice on," Cuddy drawled. She took another sip of wine.

"College applications and blowjob techniques?" Abigail prompted.

Cuddy laughed good-naturedly. "Don't even joke about that second one," Cuddy warned. "Julia is the good daughter, anyway."

"What are you talking about? You know, when you told me you were pre-med our freshman year, I considered asking for a new roommate. It's kind of intimidating," she rambled, letting out a laugh. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life drinking vodka sodas and planning parties. You're going to _save_ people."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. Abigail was majoring in Events Management—and while it certainly wasn't the most rigorous of courses, she was exceptionally talented at what she did and she worked hard—Cuddy never judged her for that.

"Julia is going to be the one to pop out 2.5 kids and have a pretty house with a white picket fence. She's going to teach elementary school and be married to banker or an architect, and I'll be contemplating suicide right around the time I finish my residency," she deadpanned, taking another sip of wine.

"Maybe she'll become addicted to drugs or something," she offered in a joking manner.

Cuddy laughed and shook her head. "She would never do that to my mother," said Cuddy, playing along.

"Are you going home for thanksgiving?" Abigail asked. "My mom is flying me home. I told her not to worry about it since we have classes until Tuesday, but she told me I "deserved a break." I think she's getting lonely," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Abigail's parents had gotten divorced when she was a senior in high-school. She didn't have much contact with her dad.

Cuddy shook her head. "I'm not going home. Olivia is going home with Madeline I think, and they invited me to come, but I haven't decided yet. I should really get a head start on studying for finals."

Abigail eyed her skeptically.

"You sure that's the only thing keeping you here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"I saw that look on your face when you came over," she said, smiling at her. "You had on sex-face."

Cuddy almost choked on her wine.

Abigail laughed. "Look, I know it might be a little awkward talking about Greg with me, but you can, you know. We used to talk about this stuff all the time," she said sheepishly.

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip to keep her from pointing out the obvious or saying something she might regret—she'd missed her best friend, and she was trying to make amends. What Abigail did was wrong, but at a certain point, she needed to get over it—and it wasn't like she was still interested in Alex.

Not anymore, at least. She supposed she had House to think of that.

She paused for a brief moment.

"Do you think guys enjoy going down on girls?" she asked abruptly.

Abigail furrowed her brow, tilting her head to the side. "I guess it kind of depends on the guy. I mean, sex is obviously personal, but to me, oral sex is even more so. It takes a lot for me to decide that I like a guy enough to wrap my mouth around his dick."

Cuddy laughed again and Abigail smiled, shrugging her shoulders and popping a grape into her mouth.

"But it's not as expected with guys, you know? Fucking misogynists. Girls are expected to give blowjobs, but guys aren't expected to reciprocate," she rambled. "Why do you ask?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, pausing. "I just—earlier I was with House, and we were alone, and I thought we were finally going to have sex. We've gotten close a couple times, but either I've gotten scared or had too much tequila, or–anyway, I was fully prepared for us to have sex, but we didn't. He just went down on me."

Abigail stared at her, wide-eyed.

"What?" Cuddy asked tentatively.

She shrugged.

"Gregory House went down on you and asked nothing in return?" she stated, shifting her voice so she phrased it as a question. She laughed. "That's nothing to worry about. I mean, think about it—you were the only one in the room who had an orgasm. Does that sound like the selfish asshole he's rumored—and in some cases proven—to be?"

Cuddy shook her head and took another sip of her wine.

"No," she said, slightly embarrassed.

"He likes you enough to _want_ to get you off," she said bluntly. "There are a lot of things involving sex that should freak you out. That situation certainly isn't one of them."

Cuddy nodded. There was a time when she was freaked out about her relationship with House because it was becoming too casual—now she was worried it just might be becoming the opposite.

* * *

_Cuddy sure does drink a lot of wine and talk about sex with her friends._

_Feedback is appreciated :):):)_

_-Alison_


	6. Human Skin

_A/N: I don't have any excuses, really. Just kinda lost my mojo for a bit! But I certainly haven't forgotten this story, and I hope you haven't forgotten me. _

Olivia was pulling her third pie out of the oven by the time Lisa and Madeline finally mustered up the courage to speak. Exchanging a questioning look with Madeline, Lisa set her fork to the side and said:

"Olivia, is there any particular reason you're attempting to force feed mountains of fruit infused baked dough into our mouths?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Not that we don't love you for it," she quickly amended, noting the hand that had swiftly moved to Olivia's cocked out hip.

"It's Thanksgiving," she stated bluntly. "Madeline and I are leaving for her house tonight and there is no way I can show up empty handed. And I need your input, so keep eating."

Cuddy sighed and picked up her fork, pretending to pick at her plate. She'd turned down Madeline's invitation to spend the few days they had off for the holiday at her quiet country home a few hours away. She told Madeline and Olivia it was because she needed the time to start studying for finals—which she did—and that she was looking forward to spending some quiet time alone—which she was—but she neglected to tell them that she was also looking forward to spending time with House.

And she certainly wasn't planning on being quiet for _that_.

"I think the peach is your best bet," said Madeline, sucking on the fork as she nodded her head. "Plus, you're from Georgia; my mother will think it's _adorable_."

Olivia huffed and pulled the apron that was wrapped around her waist tighter. "You don't think it's too summery? I don't want your family to think I'm an idiot."

"You baked a pie," Madeline pointed out. "My grandmother will probably want to trade me in for you."

"Maybe she could talk me up to Alex's grandmother then," Olivia muttered, running a hand through her hair. Apparently, Alex's New York Grandmother wasn't too fond of the southern belle.

"She'll come around," said Lisa, giving her friend a comforting smile.

"Or maybe she'll die before the two of you get married," Madeline suggested, covering her mouth as she let out a slight laugh.

Olivia glared at her, shaking her head. "We're not getting married anytime soon," she said pointedly. "And don't joke about death, Madeline. Can you imagine if something actually _did _happen to his grandmother?"

"I'd have to drop out of school and open up a store devoted to palm reading," she deadpanned.

"Which would throw our lease off completely," Lisa added, smirking over at Madeline. "We'd have to find another roommate."

"Which would mean you guys would have to find another friend."

"Which just isn't worth the hassle at this point in our college careers," Lisa finished.

Olivia glared at them.

"I'm never letting the two of you consume this much sugar in one sitting ever again," Olivia said, flickering her green eyes at her two best friends. "Enough about me. Lisa, are you _sure _we can't convince you to come with us? I hate the thought of you being here all by yourself."

Madeline scoffed.

"She's not going to be by herself. She just washed all of her matching sets of bras and underwear. She totally has a boy coming over."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I told you that I didn't have any concrete plans. I have to study, you know that."

"You don't have any concrete plans because House isn't the concrete plans kind of guy," Madeline pointed out. "It's okay. I'm glad at least one of us is getting some action."

"Like Jake would turn you away," Olivia quipped.

"Why are we constantly talking about my sex life?" Cuddy asked, rolling her eyes.

"Because I don't have one and Olivia's is boring," said Madeline.

Olivia groaned.

"My sex life is not boring!" she exclaimed, feigning offense. She cleared her throat and glared pointedly at the redhead. "Madeline, you've got to learn to throw tennis balls instead of bowling balls."

"What does that even mean?" she asked, laughing at Olivia; she was constantly saying weird things that neither her nor Lisa understood.

"It means that when we're joking around, you have to actually _joke_. You poke where it hurts—you throw bowling balls."

Madeline bit down on her bottom lip, furrowing her brow as she turned towards Cuddy. "Is this her way of admitting that her sex life actually _is _boring?" she said, covering her mouth and pretending to whisper.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, pulling on the sleeves of her oversized sweater as she glanced over towards the clock. "Shouldn't you two be leaving soon?" she prompted.

Olivia smirked. "Trying to get rid of us?" she asked, giving her a knowing look.

"No," Cuddy drawled. "I just know how long it takes to get to Madeline's house, and you tend to get cranky after midnight."

"She's got a point. Come on, Liv. Let's grab our bags and head out. Leave Lisa to her _studies_," she said, drawing out the last word seductively. Cuddy rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, pretending to have no idea what she was talking about.

And on their way out the door, Olivia pressed up against Cuddy's side and whispered:

"Wear the black lace set with the polka dots. The sheer bra makes all the difference. Plus, I bet your ass looks fantastic in a thong."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but Olivia was right—it kind of did.

* * *

She'd gotten restless right around chapter 7 of her Biology book. She'd tried switching gears and focusing on anatomy, but that _certainly_ wasn't helping her get her mind off of him. She knew all 206 bones in the human body—and the only thing she could think about were memorizing every single limb on his.

Fumbling with the over-sized grey cardigan she was wearing, her eyes glanced over to her drying rack on the other side of the room. Madeline was right—she'd planned on inviting House over that night, but she knew what was going to happen if she did; there had been too much build up for it _not_ to happen. And she wanted to—oh, did she want to. But she'd never slept with someone she hadn't seriously been dating before, and even though she and House weren't seeing other people, they weren't exactly seeing each other, either.

And that scared her—because as easy as it was to be with him, she imagined losing him would be something different entirely.

She glanced down at her outfit: long cardigan, leggings, and a pair of red knee socks—she could work with that. She closed her biology textbook—she was chapters ahead of her studying schedule, anyway—walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and picked up the phone.

* * *

"I invited you over for an early Thanksgiving dinner and you brought _pizza_?"

She smiled at him, the door half-open as his eyes wandered up and down her body; she'd put on the sheer lined black bra with the polka dots, and just a hint of it was exposed underneath her large sweater. She'd forgone the leggings—her sweater was long enough, and they were just going to get in the way, anyway.

He pushed open the door all the way, not waiting for an invitation.

"Sorry," he said mockingly, "I roasted my last turkey yesterday. Those birds sure are hard to find."

"I guess this will do," she teased, taking the pizza box from him and setting it on the counter.

He watched as her sweater slightly rid up her legs as she walked. He tilted his head to the side as she stood up on her tiptoes and reached into the cabinet, trying not to laugh as she struggled to reach something at the top.

"Need any help with that?" he asked, a hint of suggestion to his voice. Not waiting for a response, he walked over to her and placed a hand on her hip, gently pressing his thumb into the material of her sweater.

He felt her shiver underneath his touch. Smirking proudly, he reached over her and grabbed the bottle of wine she was struggling to reach. She turned her head towards his, shifting so that her hips were deftly pressed up against the counter and the small space that had between them was practically non-existent.

She bit down on her lower lip, fixing her gaze on his.

"You did that on purpose," she murmured, turning completely to face him. Her hair fell across her face, and she cast her eyes downward as she felt him staring.

"You make it too easy."

House shrugged and placed the bottle of wine on the counter, wrapping his arms around her instead. He pressed his lips against her, moving his hands around her waist and under her sweater, searching for any inch of skin he could find.

She breathed heavily, tentatively parting her lips and letting his hands explore her. Reluctantly pulling his lips away from hers, he quickly hoisted her up on to the counter and she let out a slight laugh, running a hand through his hair as he settled between her thighs.

He placed his hands on her bare thighs, running them up and down her skin. She looped her legs around his waist, bending her head down to press her lips back to his. He kissed her gently, softly moving his lips against hers and sucking on her lower lip; she moaned against him, her knees squeezing his side as she felt his hand wander up her thigh and underneath her sweater.

She found the buttons to her sweater and quickly undid them, arching her back slightly and pressing her hips against his as she thrust forward.

"I see you dressed up for me," he said, noting her matching bra and underwear as he pressed his lips to her chest, dragging his lips against her sweltering skin. He managed to slip his hand between their intertwined bodies, and his fingers were haughtily pulling at the tiny threads that sewed the loose strings of her thong together.

She shuddered a breath and angled her body more towards his, forcing his hand closer to her center.

"Getting undressed was more what I had in mind when I put these on," she confessed, fighting the urge to writhe against him as his he palmed her sex, his thumb pressing into the lace material. He felt her folds beneath his touch, and he paused, basking in the throbbing rhythm that she pulsed and the way her head was slowly dipping towards his.

"Glad we're on the same page," he murmured, distracting her with a gentle kiss before shoving her underwear to the side and slipping his hand inside to meet her warm, wet, folds.

She gasped, immediately widening her legs and placing her palms on the counter for balance. She gripped the edge of the counter and let out a moan as she felt him slide his thumb up and down her center, teasing her with every tantalizing touch.

Suddenly, he thrust three fingers inside of her. She cried out with pleasure, threw her head back and immediately regretted it because—

_BANG_

"Ow," she cried out, whimpering.

House immediately removed his hand from her. "What's wrong? I thought you were okay with—"

"No it's not _that_," she interrupted, her voice cracking as she lifted her hand towards the back of her head; she sighed—she could already feel the goose egg that was forming. "I hit my head on the cabinet when you…oh my god, this is so embarrassing," she said.

"You know, when I think about you and I _banging_, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind—but this is almost as good," he laughed.

"Shut up," she groaned, rubbing the back of her head.

"Who knew my fingers were _that_ powerful?" he boasted.

She laughed in spite of herself and hunched over towards him, letting her forehead fall to his shoulder as she lazily wrapped her legs around his waist. "This is all your fault," she murmured accusatorily.

"No argument there," he said, laughing through his words as he scooped her up into her arms. "Don't worry, I'll repay you with immensely dirty sexual favors. Until then, you need ice."

He carried her over to the freezer, her legs wrapped lazily around his waist and her forehead pressed against the crook in his neck. Her face shielded by her own hair, she pressed a slow, gentle kiss to his skin and smiled—and she felt the corners of his lips move into a smile against her cheek, but she didn't say anything.

She didn't want to ruin the moment.

* * *

"Anatomy final?" he asked, picking up the textbook that she had haphazardly thrown on her bed earlier.

She nodded from the chair at her desk, glaring at him as she held the icepack to her head. "In two weeks," she confirmed. "How much longer do I have to hold this?" she whined, dropping her shoulder as she stared at him.

"Give it a few more minutes."

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

He was lounging on her bed, his back up against the wall as he flipped through her Anatomy textbook, letting his eyes wander over to her every once in a while. She was slouching provocatively in her chair, and they both knew she was doing it on purpose, but he certainly wasn't going to deny himself the pleasure of watching the way she would casually arch her back as she fiddled with her hair or slightly widen her legs as she re-crossed her ankles.

Ignoring him, she set the icepack on her desk and walked over to her bed. She leaned in front of him, her hair spilling over her shoulder as she flicked her eyes towards his.

"Re-familiarizing yourself with the human body?" she prompted.

He smirked, shifting his eyes to the open space next to him. "Like I would ever forget."

"Oh that's right," she said, climbing on to the bed and kneeling in front of him. "I forgot how much practice you had."

"You're the straight-A student," he fired back, smirking at her as he slipped his hands underneath her sweater. He held tightly on to her hips, pulling her closer to him. "Let's play a game."

"I think we've had enough foreplay," she deadpanned.

Ignoring her, he continued. "I say the name of a bone, you show me where it is. Simple as that."

She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"On my body or yours?"

"I'll let you decide."

She nodded, scooting closer to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers danced up and down his t-shirt, pausing at the hem and snaking underneath, running them up and across his chest. "What happens if I get one wrong?" she asked innocently

He pressed his lips to hers. "Then you have to take a piece of clothing off. It's a win-win for me," he said, laughing against her lips.

She giggled as a smile crossed her lips. "Fine," she said, untangling herself from him. "Go."

"Clavicle," he said, eyeing her. He figured he'd start her off with an easy one.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to mull it over before she pulled her sweater down her shoulder. Still kneeling in front of him, she pressed her forehead to his and grabbed his hand, guiding it to the dip in her shoulder.

He ran his thumb over her skin.

"Told you this would be fun," he said, pressing a kiss to her skin.

"Next one," she murmured, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Eager. I like that." She swatted him playfully and let go of his hand. "Sternum."

Cuddy nodded, slowly drawing her hand from the bed and up her body. She went right up the middle, pausing at the space below her navel and tracing up her stomach one finger at a time—going around her bra, following the dip of her breast to the middle of her chest. He shuddered a breath as she drew circles around her skin, her breasts bouncing slightly as she gently swayed her body.

She met his eyes in a smoldering stare. "I'm starting to think this wasn't strictly for educational purposes."

"This is important stuff," he argued. "You should be taking notes."

She placed her hands on his shoulder and gently pushed him down on the bed, her hair falling in front of her face as she straddled him.

"Hard to take notes when my hands are other-wised occupied," she quipped. She slowly moved against him, tilting her head closer to him and giving him a knowing look. "You know a little something about hard, don't you?"

He stared blankly at her, as if she were challenging him, begging him to be the first one to break. His face stoic, he said:

"Ulna."

She smirked, impressed with his apparent composure. Giving him a devilish grin, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and slowly lifted herself off of him, hovering over him as she angled her body towards his side. She leaned towards his side and pressed her lips to the inside of his arm.

"Okay," he said, his breath becoming ragged as she moved her lips up his arm and readjusted herself on top of his waist. "If nothing else you get an A for flexibility."

"I told you I was an overachiever," she laughed. "House," she murmured, her hands swiftly undoing the buttons on her cardigan. "I think I've studied enough."

"If I'd known the word "ulna" would do the trick, I would have said something along the lines of "You have the most beautiful ulna I've ever seen" on the first day I met you."

"You can stop talking now," she said, rolling her eyes as he sat up and looped an arm around her waist.

He nodded and pressed his lips against hers; he was soft and gentle at first, exploring her with his mouth and his hands, finding the dips and the curves in her body as he pushed the sweater off of her. His arms fit naturally around the curve of her waist, and his breath was hot and warm on her skin, growing uneven with every connection of lips and skin; his hands roamed her body in every direction, drinking her in with every touch, starting the process all over again with every reopening of the eyes. She felt his hands settle on the small of her back, her body folding underneath the pressure of his palms and the kneading of his thumbs as he pulled her even closer to him. She dipped her head down to meet his lips, tracing his chiseled jaw with her thumb as she sunk down into the sheets. Her free hand grabbed at the soft material of his t-shirt as she slowly pulled it off of his beautifully sculpted chest. Struggling to get it off of his head, she nervously bit down on her bottom lip and gave him a tentative smile; he chuckled and rid himself of the t-shirt, lavishing her immediately with butterfly kisses to the base of her neck. Her head lolled to the side, and she felt the laughter in his chest sink all the way down to her toes.

Her hands travelled down from his jaw, pausing at his collarbone. She breathed heavily, feeling the grip of his hands on her thighs. She bent her knee up, the smoothness of her legs rubbing up against the soft stubble of his chin and he turned his head, kissing up her leg and watching the mounds of her breasts swell in anticipation. She moaned as her foot rubbed against the button to his jeans; she could feel the hardness in him. They fumbled for the button of his pants together, each of them groaning in frustration when they were forced to separate from one another. Limbs collided and lips crashed when they returned together, him left only in his navy blue boxers and her completely soaked in her thong, the hardness in her nipples seen clearly through the sheerness of her bra.

He reached up and unclasped her bra, shoving it down her shoulder and tossing it to the side; briefly, she wondered how many bras it took for him to perfect that skill. That thought was gone the second his lips were back on hers.

He kissed her before she had the chance to kiss him. Their tongues wandered inside of one another as he carefully laid her on the bed; he was gentle in his movement, as if he were afraid she was going to break. He felt heavy against her chest, the weight of him and what they were doing finally registering in her somewhat innocent mind. He softly caressed her face with one hand while he traced the outline of her jaw with his lips, the other hand sinking down to her chest and cupping one her of breasts. He pressed his thumb into her pert nipple and she widened her legs, struggling to feel closer to him.

He moved his mouth to her breast, his lips covering her possessively as he cupped her other breast with his hand before letting his fingers wander down her defined stomach. He dipped his hand inside of her underwear, feeling the warmth in her core and the wetness in her folds.

"God, just…" she moaned, her body writhing underneath his touch as he pressed his thumb against her clit. He rubbed his hand against her, teasing her with his fingers; he paused right outside her entrance and she wrapped her lean legs around his waist, her muscles tightening as he hovered over her.

"I thought we were done with the games," she said, her breath ragged as she clutched the wrinkled sheets beneath her.

He settled himself on top of her, grabbing a fist full of her hair as he ground his hips against hers. Beneath his boxers, she felt him throbbing against her wet, molten skin. He shifted so she felt the full weight of him on top of her.

"Little game of _cat_ and mouse never hurt anyone."

Desperate for contact, he thrust towards her, their groins colliding, neither one of them sure where one body ended and the other began. "House," she moaned, forcing herself up so she could reach the waistband of his boxers. She pulled them down and threw her arm out to her windowsill, somehow managing to open the small jewelry box and find a condom. He quickly took it from her and rolled it on; she clumsily dragged her thong down her legs.

It took him less than five seconds to be back on top of her, but this time he thrust hard and deep inside of her. He burrowed his face in her neck, readjusting as he slid back and forth. Her lips parted and her short raspy breaths echoed his grunted moans of pleasure. She snaked her arms around his shoulders, digging her nails into the his skin and scratching down his back; she was leaving marks and she knew it, but she figured it was only fair—he'd left his mark on her the first moment she'd glanced at him.

He filled her completely, unlike any man ever had before, and her face paused in realization, relishing in the surrealism of it all. She felt like they'd been building everything up to this moment—a chance meeting in a bookstore, a hijacked run, a kiss on trespassed ground, a musical education, and emotions run high off of alcohol and passion. It was their first time, but there was something about the way his lips nipped at her skin and his hands possessively caressed every inch of her body that made her think they'd perfected this act months ago.

"Am I hurting you?" he murmured into her ear, the feeling of his breath sinking all the way down to her spine. She laughed at the pool of worry in his voice and shook her head, shifting her muscles and urging him to go deeper into her.

"God no," she said, her stomach clenching as she tugged at his hair, drawing his head to her chest. "You're not hurting me. I need…" He gripped her legs tightly and drew her up, pulsing into her faster, harder. "Yes," she cried, gripping the sheet beneath her.

He didn't need any further instruction. Her legs were fully wrapped around his lean waist, and he pounded into her with relentless force and passion. The room was thick with the sounds of their heavy breathing, the forceful knock of the bedpost against the wall, and the soft screams of her beautifully painful pleasure.

He rode her into her orgasm, soft purrs and murmurs of his name filling the room as her muscles clenched and heat exploded inside of her. He whispered her name against her lips, watching as her eyes flickered with passion and she came down from her high. She heard him make a sound—rough, ragged, and animalistic in nature—and she watched him shudder before he let go.

House collapsed onto her chest, still inside of her as his mouth pressed up against her hair. He went to slide out of her, but she quickly stopped him, shaking her head. "Round two?" she asked, slowly catching her breath.

"I knew there was a reason you did all that running," he said, gathering her into his arms.

She laughed into his chest, snaking her arms up his abdomen and lifting herself up. She slowly slid off of him and then turned around so that her back was to him. She felt him take a deep and shallow breath as she sat on her knees and looped her arm back around his neck. He slowly reentered her, reaching around her waist and palming her center, rubbing her up and down as he thrust in and out of her. She turned her head and hungrily kissed him, their lips tugging and biting and sucking as their bodies reformed together.

Suddenly, they both felt like they had a lot to be thankful for.

* * *

"Good thing I like cold pizza." She slid the pizza box over towards him and hopped up on the counter, making sure to avoid the cabinet this time. He shot her a knowing look. "Wine?" she offered, her mouth full of pizza.

"You're such a girl," he said, taking a slice of pizza from the box and motioning for the bottle of wine.

"I don't think we'd get along quite as well if I were a guy," she said, flicking her eyes towards him as she swung her legs back and forth.

"Touché."

She threw her half-eaten slice of pizza into the box and hopped off the counter. "I have an idea," she announced.

"There's a position we _haven't_ tried?" he joked.

She glared at him.

"Come on," she ordered, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the living room. "Sit there," she said, pointing to the couch. "I'll be right back."

She bounced out of the room and went into Olivia's bedroom, searching frantically for the box. She returned to the living room minutes later, box in hand.

House laughed.

"Scrabble?"

She nodded, crinkling up her nose. "I love this game. And you seem like a words guy."

"Given the choice, I'm more of an action guy."

"I never would have guessed that," she deadpanned.

She pulled her sweater tighter around her body and placed the board on the table. "I'll even let you go first," she said, smiling at him.

"Okay," he answered. "But we're not playing Scrabble."

"We're not?" she challenged.

He shook his head.

"Nope. We're playing strip scrabble. Or we could just play naked. Your call."

"Fine," she said, shrugging her shoulders and tilting her head to the side. "Hope you enjoy being cold."

"You do realize that statement could apply to either one of the scenarios I suggested, don't you?"

"Shut up, House," she said, rolling her eyes. "Hurry up and go. Watching you strip will be fun."

She was down to only her bra and underwear in ten minutes. He'd taken off both his socks and his pants, but he was still wearing his shirt and boxers. She shivered—she knew she shouldn't have challenged him with that last word. He shook his head, laughing at her.

"This isn't fair," she whined, laughing in spite of herself. "You started with a lot more clothing than I did."

"I could come warm you up, you know," he suggested, placing a cube on the board to finish a word. She rolled her eyes—it was a triple word score. There was no way she could beat that.

She unhooked her bra and stood up. She let it hang loosely over her breasts—she figured she'd let him do the honors of taking it off. She slowly walked over to him, her hips swaying with every step she took. She climbed on top of him, wedging her knees between his legs.

She pressed her forehead to his and his hands wrapped around her waist, slipping her bra off her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. She placed her hand on his face, tilting his head back as she leaned closer and rubbed up against him. Lips inches from his, she slipped her hand into his boxers and said:

"I can't believe you beat me in scrabble with the word Lobe."

* * *

_I've been accused of throwing bowling balls. Multiple times. _

_(I know this one was shorter, but I figured the content made up for it)_

_-Alison _


End file.
